


The Naked Cleaner

by MermaidsandMermen (SophiaSoames)



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Anxiety, Cooking, Food, Hate, M/M, No idea where this is going, Nudity, Smut, a bit of slow burn going on right now, are you kidding me?, but we will fix that shortly, enemy to lovers, sex?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2019-11-13 21:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 38,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18039161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiaSoames/pseuds/MermaidsandMermen
Summary: It’s always been a thing, the gag joke gift Isak’s so called friends present him with on his birthday. Not that people care much about birthdays these days, all of them being all grown up and sensible and mature and…. Adult. Isak hates that word.The not so Adult story of when Isak get's a cleaner.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little ridiculous idea I have been working on. It will be funny. I hope. Enjoy!
> 
> I have also posted a Matteo/Jonas fic for the Skam Big Bang, that is under the Druck tag. It's kind of nice and lines us up for season 3 starting this weekend. Enjoy!! x

 

It’s always been a thing, the gag joke gift Isak’s so called friends present him with on his birthday. Not that people care much about birthdays these days, all of them being all grown up and sensible and mature and…. Adult. Isak hates that word.

He feels like everyone else has just grown up around him whilst he still sits here like a loser in his tiny flat, decomposing like some sun starved zombie.

He needs to get out more.

He needs to get a life.

They all tell him, and to be honest he agrees. It’s just when the choice comes up between spending the evening under a big cosy smelly blanket, wearing those flannelette pyjama pants he tends to live in, eating junk food out of cardboard boxes and occasionally sniffing his own armpits to realize he should probably shower and change his clothes. And that other option. Going out and meeting other human beings and engaging in socialization, conversation and mutual masturbation.

Isak Valtersen is a slob. A fairly successful slob, running his own freelance company that allows him to conduct his entire working life from his surprisingly tidy desk, so he never actually has to leave home. He get’s his shopping delivered. Anything else he needs he can buy online, and again some poor soul turns up on his doorstep with parcels and makes Isak’s life supremely easy. Comfortable. Lonely.

He’s not really lonely, because he sits in on several customer meetings every week, when he puts a shirt and tie on, to sit in front of his webcam, sometimes even bothering to brush his unruly mop of hair into a messy manbun. _Haircuts are a thing_ , Jonas will sigh when he pops around to make sure that Isak hasn’t succumbed to starvation or electrocuted himself on one of the many wires that crisscross the messy floor.

 _Slob_. That’s what Jonas calls him. Over and over.

So, it didn’t surprise Isak when the envelope the boys handed over to him on his birthday, the Friday night when he had actually showered and dressed and ventured outside his own four walls down to the Mexican bar on the corner. The boys had laughed, their faces far too smug for Isak’s anxiety demons not to wonder what the hell they were playing at.

He still didn’t truly get it. Apart from that the voucher was for 4 weekly house cleans. 2 hours each time, covering a complete deep clean of all areas of Isak’s one-bedroom apartment.

Isak had thanked them all politely whilst doing an inner eyeroll over the adultness of it all. Cleaner. His Grandma had had a cleaner. Posh housewife’s in Frogner had cleaners. He fucking didn’t need a cleaner, and despite the mess he kind of acknowledged to himself that he does live in, what the hell would a cleaner do about it? Apart from probably unplug one of Isak’s many essential leads and mess up his systems and his screen setup would be askew and smudged and it would all be a fucking mess. It was bad enough when Jonas once did his dishes and he couldn’t find his favourite coffee mug for about a week. It had been a bad week and Isak had given Jonas ALL the blame for the shit that went wrong that week. All of it.

He looks at the email that has appeared in his inbox and shudders. 

_TO:[isak.valtersen@valtersensolutions.net](mailto:isak.valtersen@valtersensolutions.net)_

_FROM:[EBN@nakedclean.oslo](mailto:EBN@nakedclean.oslo)_

_Dear Isak,_

_Thank you for entrusting us with your weekly clean and we very much look forwards to brightening up  your living space this afternoon. Our cleaner will be with you at 2.30 for a 2-hour initial clean. Please do not worry about the tidiness of your home, it is our job to ensure that your home will look it’s best using our own locally sourced organic environmentally friendly cleaning solutions._

 

Isak sighs loudly, almost making himself jerk with fear at the sound of his own breath through the silence. He should put some music on. He should change his clothes. He should lock his bloody front door and pretend to be dead. Invisible at least.

He won’t open the bloody door. And to be honest he had forgotten all about the boys totally inappropriate gift until this damn email popped up with a cheery pling and went on to totally ruin his day.

_We are a professional company catering mostly to the elderly members of ONS, and welcome new clients that have been referred to us by the ONS and it’s members. All our cleaners are trained professionals and hold current Police criminal record certificates. You may ask your cleaner to show their ID and credentials on arrival._

Blah Blah Blah. Isak couldn’t care less. He looks down at himself, the white shirt he carefully dons for his meetings buttoned up under his chin, the blue tie, the only tie he owns, fastened neatly around his neck. The clothes he is wearing then beautifully accessorized by his naked hairy legs and a pair of fluffy unicorn slippers that Eva once bought him when they were still at school. They must be over 10 years old but Isak likes them. They’re comfortable, OK? And somehow, they remind him that he was once someone else. Someone who had a life, apart from working and eating and sleeping.

His screen comes to life in front of him, signalling another video call, and he let’s himself get lost in his professional persona once more. Sitting up a little straighter and plastering another fake smile on his face before once again losing track of time.

Time. It’s funny how he can lose hours drafting client proposals and budgets and getting a tiny bit excited about how it all adds up. Another deal in the can with a healthy pay check making it’s way into Isak’s bank account. Not that he ever looks at it, apart from when he does his taxes. He doesn’t have many outgoings and the normal things that people save up for, cars, holidays, kids. Isak wants neither. None of that.

 

To be honest he’s not interested. Not at all.

 

The doorbell jerks him out of his headspace with a shrill, and he almost trips over his own feet in frustration as the bell just keeps going and going and going. And Going.

“What the FUCK!” He shouts as he flings the door open with a slam, staring angrily at the no doubt brain dead, deaf and dumb idiot standing outside his flat.

 

A dude.

 

And Isak’s heart does a jolt.

 

Because Hello. Dude. Wow.

 

“Valtersen?” The dude says and Isak shivers. Fuck.

 

He hasn’t felt like this in years. Like someone speaks and it goes straight to his cock. It happened once and never lead to anything. And everything else has been a waste of time. But . Wow. Just Wow.

“Yes?” Isak snarls. Because he has zero social skills. He is well versed in proposals and quotes and wowing potential customers with his immaculate economics and skills and training. He can talk shop until he is blue in the face. Dealing with actual humans?

 

“Have I got the right place? I mean, I am here from Naked Clean Oslo? 2.30 appointment for an initial clean?”

“Ehhrm. Yes. Oh. OK.”

 

This is the part where Isak should apologize and slam the door in his face. This is the part where he should throw the guy out and text Jonas a bunch of angry emojis and threaten to cut him out of his will. Instead he stomps back into his office whilst the guy follows him through the door, carrying some kind of wheeled box and a couple of brooms and mops. And a cordless hoover of some kind. At least that is what Isak thinks it might be. Some kind of sucking contraption.

 

Which makes Isak’s mind dive headfirst back in the gutter.

He would suck this guys dick. Anytime. Just say the word.

 

“So, I’m Even, I’m the owner of the company. Thank you for entrusting us with your weekly clean and if you have any special request just let me know, otherwise I will get started and will be out of your hair as soon as I am done.”

“Ehhrmm.” Isak says.

 

Smooth. Very Smooth.

 

“Where can I put my clothes?” The dude asks. Even. Isak think he heard Even. The guys name is Even. Even. Wow.

“Anywhere?” Isak says, wondering what the fuck the dude is on about. He’s wearing a threadbare t-shirt and shorts. Short socks. Posh trainers. And a load of junk around his wrist. Not enough clothes that he should be removing anything.

“Feel free to relax, unless you prefer to go textile.” The dude says. Even Says. And Isak snaps back into reality.

“What?” He’s either loosing his shit, or the guy, this Even is speaking Mandarin. Or he might just be totally weird. Not that Isak knows what to say, because now he has kind of lost his ability to speak. Breathe. And live.

 

Even has just stripped naked. Not just taken his top off, no he has gone and dropped his pants and lost his shirt and is busy untangling the lead to something and lifting contraptions out of the box-thingy and there is shit all over Isak’s hallway. Stuff. And a totally naked man. Naked. Isak can see his crack. He can see his balls when he leans over.

“The fuck?” He finally shrieks.

“Cool isn’t it?” Even turns around and is grinning harder than he probably should, considering he is naked. And his dick is right there, and it’s a fucking gorgeous dick too and Isak throws his face in his hands and shrieks. It’s not cool. This is not cool. “It’s a steam cleaner, throws out steam so hot it kills 99% of common household bacteria without using chemicals. I use it on everything, and you should se how cleans things come out. It’s very satisfying to use.”

“I bet.” Isak’s mouth says whilst he cringes in fear and embarrassment and sheer panic. There is a naked dude in his hallway. Naked dude in his hallway. He needs help. He needs to ring 999, 112. 911, whatever fuck the damn number is these days.

“I did burn my balls once when I lost my grip on the damn nozzle. It wasn’t pretty. Mr Holte who’s flat it was almost had a heart attack when I came running into the kitchen screaming and tried to get my balls under the cold tap. “

“No shit.” Isak’s mouth says again, whilst he is hyperventilating into his hands. Please just stop talking. Please just take your fucking burnt balls and leave.

“So, Isak is it? Is it all right that I call you Isak?” Even has taken a few steps into the room. Into Isak’s office, and his hands are firmly placed on his (naked) hips, as he turns around the room and surveys the ceiling. “Cobwebs. Easy. I’ll sort them first before I start clearing the floor. Is there a recycle station in the basement?”

“Can you please…Please put some clothes on.” Isak hisses out, between trying to control what is probably the most profound panic attack in the history of his panic attack history. Because this is not going well.

“ I don’t work well with textiles. Restrictive as fuck. I see you tow the middle line, but you don’t have to be a cotton-tail around me. I’ve grown up in the lifestyle, so nothing fazes me. That’s why I started this company, to cater for elderly residents who preferred to enjoy their freedom at home and not have to get dressed for their carers to come in. I clean, cook, and I am a trained nurse so I even have clients who I can service with their medical needs. It’s been liberating for so many people, and for me, …..dude? Are you OK?”

NOOOOO Isak wants to scream. I am not fucking Ok. Instead he sinks down to his knees and to be honest, his vision is blackening out a little around the edges, and perhaps he should have eaten to day, and he can’t remember if he actually made himself a coffee this morning or not and then.

Then everything goes black.


	2. Even.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your lovely comments, and those of you who are weirded out, don't worry. I am too. But just let Even explain himself,OK?

Fuck my life.

Yes. Ok. Maybe I should have asked a few questions. Yes, maybe I shouldn’t have trusted Jonas. But hey, he’s my cousin and he’s family and he knows God damn well how I run my business. Damn him. Damn everything. And damn the guy who I am manhandling into the recovery position as I shout at Jonas down the phone.

The dude is fine. Breathing. Moaning a little and drooling whilst I place his hand gently under his chin and check his pulse again.

A faint. With a nasty head bump as he didn’t even try to catch himself before his forehead ploughed straight into his wooden floor planks. That will bruise nicely. And he should really get himself checked out for concussion, even though I doubt he will have more than a headache and a bruised ego. Because he’s just like everyone else. Totally stuck up and full of himself and rude as fuck.

He’s all pale and his lips are blue, and I have a blood sugar kit in the van, but of course I didn’t bring it up with me. I tell Jonas to bring one and he just sighs loudly and hangs up on me.

So, this is Isak. THE Isak. The dude Jonas won’t shut up about, and yeah. It is all kind of dawning on me as Jonas burst through the door, immaculately dressed in his paramedic uniform, followed by Linn, his partner, who looks just as dishevelled as I feel.

“Hi Weirdo.” She says flatly as she kneels on the floor next to this Isak dude and grabs his hand to attatch the blood oxygen monitor to his finger whilst Jonas is already getting the blood sugar kit up and running.

“My name is not _Weirdo_.” I say, trying not to sound pissed off at Linn. She and I don’t get on. Surprisingly enough, since we both adore Jonas. I mean I used to adore Jonas. Now he is pissing me off. Well what’s new.

“I only know you as Weirdo.” Linn continues. “I don’t even care what your real name is. Do you even have one?”

I just roll my eyes and Jonas sighs as he gently slaps Isak around the face. Not quite professional but hey, they do know eachother apparently.

“Isak, mate. Wake up for a second, will you?”

He moans. Isak. Tries to roll onto his back whilst Linn just pushes him back on his side and mutters “If he pukes at least Weirdo here can clean it up. “

“My name is NOT Weirdo.” I say back. I don’t know why I bother with Linn.

“What the hell were you playing at?” I hiss at Jonas. “I run a professional business. I ONLY deal with members of the Oslo Naturist Society. I don’t run some gag company, or provide sexual favours and I don’t do some kind of fucked up Grindr hook up dating service for your emotionally stunted friends, Is that clear?”

“If someone is emotionally stunted it is you, Even. “ He hisses back, keeping his voice low, like he is pretending that this Isak won’t hear what we are saying. He’s awake, I can tell, and his pulse is racing like crazy under the two fingers I have gently pressed against his neck.

“You are really starting to piss me off.” I snarl.

“Look at it like this Even.” Jonas is staring at me again, that intense stare he does when he wants to drill something into your head. He doesn’t that. A lot. “I have been trying to get you two to meet for years, and you put it off, constantly. You need someone in your life, and Isak here, is such a fucking mess to start with, he needs someone to look after him and make sure he actually eats and breathes and sleeps like a normal human being.”

“I’m a nurse. Not a fucking prostitute.” I snarl back. Totally irrational, I know, but I am so bloody pissed off. I don’t need help to find a partner. I don’t need a fucked up rude snarky half-dressed boyfriend. I need someone who understands me, who is part of the naturist lifestyle and who I won’t have to make excuses for every time I drop my pants. I tell Jonas that as well whilst he just sighs.

“You have grown up like this, I know Even, and I am not condemning your lifestyle choices, but you spend all your fucking time with all these pensioners, who are all Naturists. You have no friends outside your family and clients, who by the way, don’t pay you most of the time. You need a proper job, and I keep trying to get you to sign up to this Paramedic exchange, I mean I would have you ride along with us any day, having a volunteer nurse on board on a Friday night would make our shift a breeze. Wouldn’t it, Linn?”

I can tell Jonas is begging here, and Linn just hisses under her breath whilst filling in forms on her tablet and taking Isak’s vitals. I hope. You never know what Linn does most of the time.

“And anyway, if you just tried, you and Isak would get along great. He is just as weird as you. “

Jonas winks and Isak, the comatose rude human sprawled on the floor, actually speaks.

“I am right here Jonas.”

His voice is a little raspy.

“You should put some clothes on mate.” Jonas says softly, looking at me and jerking his head. Telling me to get the hell out of here.

“You should have some respect. “ I retaliate. Totally rudely. I do get his point, I do. If this Isak turns his head a tiny weeny bit he will have my dick in his face, and even I can appreciate the inappropriateness of that. However much I don’t necessarily want to.

“Isak, you fainted and hit your head. Nice looking bruise coming up on your forehead by the way. Now can you follow my finger? Left to right? Good boy. Now what day is it? “

“Tuesday.” Isak rasps out. I can hear him from the hallway where I am standing like an idiot looking for something to cover my privates in. Like a towel. We always keep towels by the door at home in case someone has to answer the door. Here though, nothing. And I can’t remember where I dropped my clothes and instead, I fumble around in the open closet in the hallway and my hand finds a pair of trunks. Like speedo kind of things. Which are far too small, but they are at least covering my junk, and making me decent enough for other human beings. I hope.

Yeah, I know. I’m weird. And I totally blame my parents who are full flung 24-hour Naturists. I grew up like this, and my grand parents were Naturists, and I somehow survived to this half-hearted adulthood, as a Naturist. And that part I am really happy with. Because at least I have something. I might not have a proper job, and I might have fucked up every attempt at holding down a proper job, mostly because I am apparently weird, and yeah, the aversion to textiles doesn’t help either when you are working in a hospital. Scrubs are OK, at least I can free ball in them and they are loose and cool, but when you are used to just being yourself, wearing clothes is kind of. Weird.

But that’s the thing, I am me, and I am actually happy. I know for a fact most people aren’t, but at least when I am me, I am, free. Just myself. And I am perfectly content in my skin. So, fuck everyone else who can’t see it.

My parents were lucky, they both work for the Oslo Naturist Society, and spend their days in their home office, living a nice happy peaceful existence with very little stress, and of course they wear clothes when they leave home, and I’m not a total imbecilic person, I know when clothing is not optional and when it is. Today was an optional day. I sent Isak the contract. I have a very detailed terms and conditions list, and I explicitly explain that the cleaner will not wear textiles whilst working, and that this is not an option. I told him. He agreed. Well at least he didn’t argue, and he sent back the contract, electronically signed. He can’t sue me, however much he tries.

Which is why I only work for other Naturists, or people who have been carefully vetted. Like Mr Holte, who isn’t a naturist at all, but his carers were driving him crazy, and I clean for his neighbour. And they talked and I was offered the contract, and Mr Holte, having been in theatre all his life didn’t bat an eyelid. He just wants Meatballs on a Thursday and fish on a Tuesday and his bathroom cleaned and his medication neatly sorted into his little blue pill boxes. He doesn’t give a flying fuck if I do it naked or not, and anyway he is interesting to talk to and tells me all this gossip about actors and TV stars and things. He’s my favourite client, apart from Ms Anita, who is a Naturist and about 80 and makes me laugh until I cry with her stories of Bingo club and her recaps of TV shows she watches.

And anyway. People should mind their own fucking business. Apart from Linn who gives me an eyeroll and a loud sigh as I sink to my knees next to Isak, who just stares at me in shock.

“I said clothes. Even.” Jonas warns.

“I am decent.” I hiss back.

“Who is. He.” Isak coughs. “That. Why is he still here?”

“Isak, this is my cousin Even. “

“The weirdo?” Isak says and he gives me a disgusted look. Like I am truly a weirdo. I should be used to it, that bleeding nickname that has has stuck since school.

“Even. His name is Even. He moved back from Copenhagen recently and runs his own cleaning business. “ Jonas says, shooting me what I think is a supportive smile. “Even is not a weirdo, he is a Naturist. “

“A weirdo.” Isak coughs. “Is he wearing my speedos? Why is he wearing my fucking Speedos?!”

Isak tries to sit up whilst Jonas and I both say “Don’t” in unison.

“You need to lie down and let us monitor you for a while. You had a nasty fall and could be suffering from concussion. I am a trained nurse, and Jonas and Linn here are checking you over. If you get up to fast you might faint again and injure yourself or others, so please just lie down and relax. Would you care for some water?” I do my professional nursing spiel whilst Jonas packs his kit away, shooting me an appreciative smile for once.

“Vasquez, we need to shoot off. Back in the van, duty awaits. You have 4 minutes. 4. “ Linn drones on whilst Jonas just nods.

“Isak, when did you last eat? Your blood sugars are shit, you are quite severely dehydrated, again, and I kind of want  you back on those iron tablets I gave you.”

“They made me constipated. “ Isak sighs. Then he blushes. Yeah. Because I am still here, and obviously Jonas knows his shit. In a non-literal way.

“I will stay with him for a while.” I offer. “I’ll make him something to eat and make sure he rests, and I can monitor, and let you know how he is before I leave later. “

“I have a client meeting at 4, I need you all to get the fuck out of my flat and let me just get on with work. I promise I will eat and drink a whole 2 litres of water like a good boy. “

Isak doesn’t even sound sassy. Just pissed off and tired. He sounds so bloody tired of everything that it makes my heart ache. I know the feeling, because that is sometimes me. That sinking depressing awful feeling when nothing makes sense and there is no light at the end of the tunnel. When Monday turns into Sunday and nothing has changed.

“You need monitoring for the next 24 hours.” I mutter. It’s the truth. Honestly. “ I have no more clients today, so I can stay with you. I promise not to get under your feet, and I will just check your vitals and make sure you don’t pass out or puke your guts out. Any visual disturbance? You have to let me know if you feel unwell, or if your vision starts acting up, that’s a good indication that there is something we need to investigate. And anyway, I have been paid to clean your god damn flat, so I might as well do that.”

To be honest I don’t feel up to it. I kind of just want to go home and sleep. It’s kind of exhausting when you realize a simple job is a fuck up, but it’s the first time the client has actually collapsed on me. Like it was my fault he collapsed. Like seeing my dick made him faint, which makes me wonder how fucking deep in the closet this Isak is, whilst my head is trying to remember the things Jonas has told me about him. Because Isak. Yeah. Gay. Stupid. Successful, and impossible to drag out to a party or make him come for dinner. And yes, Jonas has tried to set us up before, which I have refused. I am not willing to date a cotton tail. Tried it. Didn’t work. Never does. There are always the sexual undertones, and the weirdness and the friends and family and the comments that then turn into resentment.

I’m a normal fucking human being and I just want to have a life.

“Done deal.” Jonas says and snaps his paramedic case shut. “So Even, you stay here, and I will come over and check on you tomorrow morning before my shift. Please eat, Isak. Seriously. And be nice to Even. EVEN. His name is EVEN. “ Jonas eyebrows and stern look at Isak makes me smile. It’s the same look he gives me.

Behave. It says. Like I need reminding. I’m not the one with issues here or stuck in some closet or so uptight about his own self that he can’t deal with a bit of nudity. Anyway. These speedos are driving me mad and I am going to go and look for a towel and then I’m going to steam clean the hell out of that cesspit of a kitchen.

And check Isak’s vitals once an hour.

And then once I’m sure he is fine I am refunding Jonas his bloody  money and never setting foot in this goddamn flat again.


	3. Chapter 3

 

3

I’m not a total fuck up.

Okay. Ehhrm. Maybe I am a little bit of a fuck up. Because the headache I am spouting is kind of normal, I always wake up with my head pounding like a beast and my teeth clenching and my heart racing in my chest. But on top of that I feel like someone has punched me in the face.

Someone did years ago when I was still at school. Some stupid argument when I was drunk and stupid. I remember being all stunned by it and stumbling away in a blind mess whilst blood poured out of my nose and my ears rung out with some kind of weird static.

Today though? It just aches. And my forehead is all tight and swollen and it takes me a little while before my thoughts align enough to remember all the crap that went down yesterday. And on top of that I had a 4-o clock conference call with a new supplier and fuck. FUCK.

I have no idea what time it is. I have no idea if it’s day or night, and I sit up in sheer panic, only for my vision to blacken out and I feel like I am going to faint again. OR throw up. I’m not sure.

Then there is this almighty crash that breaks the silence and I kind of force myself up with the fear of it all and stumble clumsily down the hallway holding onto the walls like a toddler learning to walk.

“The FUCK?”

I can be polite if I want to. And to be honest, I am terrified. I have been burgled once and it wasn’t fun, and the thought of facing an intruder head on is something I didn’t even consider before galloping down the hallway like a fool.

“You’re awake. Good. Dinner is ready, sorry about the noise, the handle fell off your pasta pan, and honestly mate, that pan is going in the bin. It’s dangerous! Anyway, the pasta is good, and I made a sauce. I wasn’t sure if you are vegetarian or not, so I stuck to a vegan vegetable one, with cheese on the side. Good?”

It’s the naked weirdo. Of course. I mean, with my luck, of course I would end up with the damn cleaner stalking me and refusing to leave and now I will have to call the police and have him forced to leave, whilst filling out a restraining order. I am also never speaking to Jonas again. Because this? This? This is like my worst nightmare. Strangers. People in my flat. Food.

Well the food is not a bad thing, it smells bloody gorgeous and my stomach makes a growling sound somewhere deep inside and it’s embarrassingly loud to the point that this Even dude giggles and points to the chair, the one with the plate of food being put down on the table. With a tall glass of water and a folded napkin.

“Why are you still here?” My voice is all raspy and my head is pounding like a motherfucker.

“Isak, mate, you fell. Fainted. Big nasty bruise on your forehead. Jonas’ orders, OK? I have to monitor you for any side-effects of your fall for a good 24 hours.”

He says that like it’s totally normal. Which makes me snicker, because it kind of dawns on me that he is , once again, naked.

 

Apart from a plain white apron with generous splashes of tomato sauce down the front.

 

“And look? I’m wearing clothes. So, give me a little slack here.” He says, looking almost offended at me laughing.

“That is not…. _clothes_.” I say, sarcastically, snarling out the word clothes.

“It covers all the essential parts.” He replies, like he is mocking me.

“I can see your butt.” I say back. Like I am a toddler.

“ I have got a great butt.” He sasses back. Of course. “ And anyway, who are you to talk? Mr I am such a prude I pass out when faced with a little skin? Look at yourself, you are just wearing pants. I am kind of wearing much more fabric than you are. “

He’s actually got a point. I’m not sure how I got into bed. Or why. Or what happened to my shirt and tie. I’m sure I was wearing a shirt and tie.

 

I must look really confused and a bit scared, because he comes and sit’s down on his hunches next to the chair, and takes my hand.

Which is so weird that I jerk my hand back in fear, yet he doesn’t even flinch.

 

“Look Isak. Nothing happened. Jonas undressed you and put you to bed, and you have slept for a good couple of hours, which is great. Your vitals are good, but you need to eat, and Jonas is concerned about you being dehydrated which I agree with. You are going to drink another litre of water before you go to bed later, and I will wake you in the night go get some more liquid into you. I would have preferred to get you on a drip, just to top you up and give us something to work with, but unless you let me take you to the emergency room and sort you out, we haven’t got that option. I am assuming you are not nauseous? Visual disturbance? Headache? Confused? Talk to me.”

“Fuck you Even.”

Yeah. Charming. I know. But at this point he is already driving me crazy and I kind of want to eat and go back to bed and forget about the shitload of work that I have missed out on and the missed video meeting I had and the grovelling I will have to do and I am behind with everything and then I was going to get started on this month’s invoicing, and…..

“Isak. It’s OK. It is. You can hurl abuse at me all you want, but I am not leaving until Jonas has come by in the morning, and I can see your brain working, and your whole body is twitching with unease and it’s fine. Honestly. Just eat your food and drink the water and then go back to bed and sleep. Everything else can wait.”

“I have work to do.”

I don’t know where that comes from. Like I am having a conversation with this guy.

“You don’t have to do anything. Not until we have you up and running on full health again.”

I am a child. Because I stuff a mouthful of pasta in my mouth and chew, sauce dripping down my chin, and I am embarrassed to accept the napkin Even offers me across the table. He would probably wipe my chin if I let him. Sitting there all bright eyed with an amused smile on his face and his hair all perfectly swept back and his perfect nose and plush lips and the annoying little giggle he does. Again.

“Good eh?” He says and shoves a mouthful in his own mouth. Chews. Swallows.

 

I would swallow for him. Anytime.

 

Yeah. My mind is back in the gutter. I need to get laid. I need to stop. I need to get back to work, and clear some of the backlog so I can get some of this stress of my shoulders.

And anyway, he’s right. The pasta is wonderful, just the right amount of chilli and spices and a little bit of saltiness tangling on my tongue. And there are green bits in it, that I am guessing is spinach, which I grimace at and try to push to the side of my plate.

 

“Eat the goddamn spinach Isak.”

 

God, he rubs me up the wrong way. One minute ago, I wanted to blow him, and now I honestly want to punch him in the face.

 

“You are not my Dad.”

“I could be your Daddy if you want me to?” He laughs and winks.

 

I just roll my eyes.

 

“So, let’s just get to know eachother. I mean come on. I have to hang with you for a bit, and I know you haven’t got the best impression of me. So, let’s start again. Hi. I’m Even.”

He reaches his hand across the table, and me, I stupidly grip it. Shake his hand like an uptight looser, mumbling “Isak.”

“Good. Great start. So, I’m 28, single, moved to Copenhagen in my twenties, following a girlfriend who, well, it didn’t work out. Degree in advanced nursing from Uni there, and I moved back here to hang with my parents a few months back. Run my own cleaning business and the rest of the time I chill. I’m really into books and films and cooking and like going to the theatre. I’m a Naturist, and so are my parents, which is not weird. We just spend most of our time without the restrictions of textiles, and when we venture outside in public, we wear the appropriate clothing. It’s got nothing to do with sex. Nothing. So that’s me. Tell me about yourself.”

He looks expectantly at me, like I am supposed to talk.

“ Girlfriend? “ My mouth spurts out. “Jonas said you are gay. “

“Jonas needs to get his facts straight. I identify as pansexual. I tend to fall in love with people without the prejudice of gender.” He replies, looking very twatty. Like he is proud of himself.

“You’re a twat.” I say. Because I am rude as fuck and need to get a gag. Where the hell did that come from?

“Your blood sugar is low, and you are being unnecessarily defensive, and a little bit aggressive Isak. Please eat, and your moods will stabilize, and not only that, but you will feel better. You are still very pale.”

“Will you stop psychoanalyzing me? You are not my doctor, and I look this pale, all the time. I feel like shit, all the time. It’s just who I am. I have a headache and you can take your fucking pasta and shove it.”

 

Nice Isak. Mature.

 

And yes, that is me stomping down the hallway and throwing myself face down on the bed. Breathing like I am running a marathon whilst my chest feels like it’s planning some kind of life reducing heart attack. That was stupid. That was rude. But then, this guy is basically squatting in my home against my will and fuck Jonas and his stupid health advice and pretend doctor crap. He’s a paramedic. Basically, a glorified nurse.

Not that I should say shit like that, because Jonas is a goddamn hero, him and Linn save hundreds of lives every week, working in crazy conditions and dealing with the scum of humanity. They also deliver babies in stairwells, and rescue kittens and drink tea with lunatics who ring 911 for company. And to be honest, they also stop by and see me, almost every shift. They bring me coffee, and muffins. I kind of like it. Despite it being bloody annoying every time the doorbell goes.

And I kind of wanted to finish that pasta. Instead I am throwing a tantrum in my bed feeling sorry for myself.

At least I am alone. At least if I breathe slowly, the headache calms a little.

 

“I brought your pasta.” His voice sends shivers up my spine. In annoyance of course.

“Not hungry.” I quip. I’m starving.

“I will feed you if you don’t stop behaving like a spoilt kid. For god’s sake, sit up, turn around and eat your food. I’ll be in the kitchen. Alone. Eating my dinner. “

 

He stomps out, leaving my plate on the side, and leaving my gaze pinned to the sight of his naked arse disappearing out the door.

He’s hurt. I might not be the most perceptive human being, and I might have the social skills of a gnat, Jonas words, not mine, but I can tell.

And Yeah. He’s trying, and I am just being. Me. Stupid. He got that right.

So, I grab my plate and let my feet walk a little too loudly back to the kitchen where I slam my plate down on the table and take a seat opposite him.

“I’m Isak. I’m 26, and run my own It solutions company. I mostly create human resource software, payroll, records, tax management, things like that, but I also develop tailor made software solutions for online presence and interaction with the consumer. “ I sound like a twat too. Which makes me giggle.

And I think I blush, because he is looking at me, right at me, and he is smiling. Like he is enjoying the fact that I am sitting here forcing myself to talk, wearing nothing but underpants, in my far too skinny pale body and he is wearing nothing but the damn apron, in his sun kissed golden skin and perfect soft shapes, and there is a little muscle definition in his arms. Which makes me cringe. Because he is so not my type. Not at all.

 

He is exactly my type. I force my brain to abort those thoughts. Tuck them away. Permanently.

 

“I am single. Gay. Have been out since VGS. Not interested in a relationship. Ever. I am happy just working and living here. “

 

That’s a lie. I am not happy, and I am not living. I am existing in a never-ending loop of stress and work and trying to wake up in the morning and struggling to fall asleep at night and remembering to eat and being pestered by Jonas and forgetting to ring my parents every week and just.

 

I’m tired. I’m so god damn tired.

 

“Nice to meet you, Isak.” He says. Just smiling at me like he means it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the lovely comments, and as always I am rubbish at replying, but I will take the time to go thorugh them and reply this weekend. It doesn't mean I dont appreciate them, because I do, they are what keeps me going, but I am so keen to keep on writing that I just get on with it. 
> 
> And please do not take this too seriously, it is not meant to be die hard reality realistic etc etc. It's just a funny messy little story and It just makes me happy to write it. 
> 
> I hope you keep reading and that it makes you smile. 
> 
> All the love S xx

“My mum’s really vain.” I giggle.

I am a little high on all this, because it’s been a long time since I have sat down and just talked nonsense to someone. Someone my own age. Someone who still thinks I am super weird, but hey. I can cope with that.

“She has a home gym and this tanning bed, and however much Dad tells her that she shouldn’t be using it, she still does, because she likes to look her best and she’s pretty fit for a mum.

“She works out naked?” Isak says, and gosh, there is a little colour in his cheeks, which is kind of cute. And good. So, he has blood behind that pale skin of his. He’s obviously not a vampire then.

“Of course, although, you will probably find this weird. She puts on a sports bra for the running machine, because she says she hates having her boobs flap around. “

Yeah, that makes him cringe, as he buries his face in his hands. And I think he is mumbling something about too much information and shaking his head against the surface of his crappy kitchen table. IKEA no doubt, and the surface is all polished and shiny, which tells me he probably never uses it.

I wish we had a couple of bottles of wine, because I kind of fancy just getting rat arsed and passing out on his sofa and just being stupid and irresponsible for once. Perhaps smoking some grass, potent enough to just make us both switch off. Maybe in a parallel universe we would have been friends, I think to myself as he looks up and snorts.

“Your family are nuts.” He says.

“No, actually I think we are pretty normal and boring. My sister is not a naturist and wears clothes all the time. She kind of rebelled in her teens and refused to be naked. And I kind of understand her, because when you are a spotty ultra horny teenager in a room full of other naked teenagers, things get awkward. Because you look, and you fantasize and just because there are rules and that you don’t touch other people without their permission, and personal space and boundaries are a thing…”

“You get a boner? “

He finishes my sentence with a swallowed giggle, and yeah. Being a naturist teenager was awkward as fuck.

“There was this boy, his parents were good friends of mine, and I was crushing on him badly. He would just sit there and lean back on the sofa talking about all his arty farty interests and I would have to run and lock myself in my room, because just putting a sofa cushion on my lap would have been totally obvious. It’s like everyone would have known. And that would have been bloody awkward.”

“Fuck, I would have died. I mean. Really? You have naked parties?”

“We socialize, we are totally normal people Isak. Totally. We have dinner parties, date, dance. It’s not weird.”

“Even, it is totally weird. Mega weird. Awkward as fuck. Weird on a whole new level.“

I can’t believe he is talking this much to me, and that he is actually amused by all my crap stories.

“So, this is weird? You are wearing underpants, and I am wearing an apron and we just had a very nice dinner party, just the two of us. Nothing weird about this.” I say and throw my hands in the air. Because there isn’t. I like that he’s kind of half-naked. All the time.

“This is still very _very_   weird Even. “ He laughs, and it makes me happy. It’s funny how that makes me happy.

“I thought you were a naturist too, otherwise I would never have agreed to take you on as a client. Jonas said you were new to the full-time lifestyle and wanted to be able to work textile-free in peace whilst I cleaned. And you did open the door half dressed, which I took for you wanting to be polite and wear some appropriate clothing the first time we met. I didn’t know you…you know….were a cotton-tail.”

“What the hell is a cotton-tail?” He looks a little bemused again, and yeah. Maybe I shouldn’t call him that.

“It’s what we call people who wear clothes. Like people who are not naturists.”

 

I should venture back to a safe topic. Like the weather. Meatballs. Recipes for lentil stew.

 

“ _You_ are weird. “

“Thanks, I kind of know that. “

“Why don’t you work, with that fancy arse nursing degree?”

Fuck he’s blunt.

“Because, as you said yourself, I’m weird. I never fit it. And then I get self-conscious, and uncomfortable and I think everyone is talking behind my back and I start to get nervous and I worry I will mess up, and then I end up leaving. I just can’t. It’s just hard.”

He nods, and we both sit there quietly.

"I could never work in an office with other people. I don't work well with other people." 

I understand that, and he kind of shakes his head, like he is trying to clear his headspace.

“But your company is going well?”

So, we are talking shop again. _Fine_.

“I enjoy it, but it doesn’t all add up. I’m crap at money, and most of my clients pay cash, and then I spend it before I know what I had, and I end up with nothing in the bank. Some of my clients don’t remember to pay me, and I am not very good with confronting people and following up on stuff. So yeah. I’m kind of dreading having to do my tax return, because my Dad does it for me, and he will see that I have fucked it all up. “

Truths? When did I start blurting out all my secret truths to some rude stranger? What the hell is wrong with me?

“Do you want me to have a look? Maybe I can set up the EZ invoicing system for you that your clients can sign up to and all the money goes straight in the bank? If the council are paying part of their care, we can easily sign you into their invoicing system too, and you could apply for some financial aid for a first time start up business. Have you looked into that?”

“I don’t know what half of that means, but anyway, I can’t afford to pay you.”

He sits there and kind of chews a fingernail, absentmindedly tapping his fingers on the table top.

“We….” He stops and glances at me, then looks away. Like what he is about to say will hurt. Or is so out of his comfort zone that it’s actually painful to even suggest. And I kind of dread what ever it is he is about to say, because his breath is a little fast and he stutters.

“We could make a ….Deal. Deal. “ His voice is a little low. Like he is almost embarrassed to ask.

“What kind of deal?” I say, keeping my voice soft. I could do a deal. I don’t want a deal. Maybe I do. I suck at all this. Whatever it is.

“You could cook me a big pan of that pasta thing, enough to last me a week. In return, I could look over your company files and see what I can suggest. I might have some basic procedures we can put into a simple admin system for you, and anyway, your website is too simplistic, it needs basic legalities at the bottom with contact us, and pricing and links to your society for naked people or whatever.”

“You looked at my website?” I squeal in embarrassment, because I made it myself and I thought it was pretty cool. I didn’t realize it was shit. He clearly thinks it’s shit from the painful look on his face.

“Home made on the Wix platform. I hate the Wix platform. I mean, this is my job. I know this stuff, and if you are using an online platform to attract business you need to present a business, not a hobby venture.”

How he sounds like my Dad and all my defences are up and he’s not only offended my pretty epic website building skills. (I have zero skills, but he doesn’t know that, and anyway. It was a simplistic approach to exactly what I provide. Clean and simple services. I thought it was brilliant.)

“It’s perfect.” I say. Because I am kind of proud of it.

“It’s shite, Even. Not following industry standards and the alignment is off, and anyway, it will put potential clients off rather than attract them.”

“You are so fucking rude.” I say. Because now I am losing my patience.

“Amen. “ He says and get’s up from the chair. “And on that point, I am going to bed.”

“Drink your bleeding water.” I snarl out. He hasn’t even touched the glass.

“Fuck you.” He hisses.

“What the hell did I say now?” I shout, because It’s getting like that. Uncomfortable and I am now pissed off. And hurt. And annoyed. Because for a while there we were actually having a nice conversation.

“Just go home Even.” He sighs.

“Not leaving.” I reply back, which makes him turn around and sigh loudly.

He’s quite impressive standing there, in a pair of plain skin-tight y-fronted boxers. Nice package. I look. Of course, I fucking look.

He’s pale but nicely shaped. Far too skinny for his length, but has nice arms. Lovely chest. Hairless and cute little nipples. And that mass of curly hair that is sticking out at all angles even though he has tried to get it into a messy top knot. I would say he’s handsome, if it wasn’t for that angry scowl on his face.

“Jonas won’t kill you for not staying until the morning. Just get your fucking clothes on and leave.”

“Jonas will kill me if you end up dead with an undiagnosed aneurism. “

Isak won’t die from an undiagnosed aneurism. Isak is perfectly fine, but he is pissing me off and I am not backing down. Because I am bloody evil when I am angry, and he has offended me, in what way I can’t really explain right now because I am too busy trying to figure out what the hell is going on and he is too busy stomping down the hall way and slamming his bedroom door shut.

And he hasn’t drunk his bloody glass of water.

Which only means one thing. I will have to go and force him to drink it. Threaten to call Jonas. Threaten to bundle him into my van and take him to hospital and sweet talk the nurses into giving him a drip. Which they would because dehydration, is not something you mess around with and his bloods were shite. Jonas texted me an hour ago, when he got the results back. This Isak is a mess, and someone has to sort him out.

It’s not my job. Not my place, but I like a challenge. That’s what I tell myself as I grab the glass and let my angry footfall echo down the hallway towards his bedroom.


	5. Chapter 5

I don’t even hear him coming down the hallway before the bedroom door shoots open and slams back against the wardrobes with an alarming bang.

Yeah, because there he is and my heart jolts out of my chest as I kind of fly out of bed whilst he slams a glass of water down on my bedside table, then walks around the bed and lets the damn apron fly onto the floor and then.

Yes.

He lifts my duvet up and gets into my bed. Actually, into my bed. Naked.

 

His naked arse is against my sheets in my bed. _My Bed_.

 

Which apparently makes me shriek like a banshee and stomp my feet. Totally rational. Sane.

 

“Get the fuck out of my bed.” I shout.

“Isak. Calm down. I am not going anywhere until you have drunk that glass of water. I will be watching. And anyway, your bed is nice and warm, and I can quite happily wait here. Like forever.”

“You are such a fucking dick.”

“Sue me.”

“Oh, believe me, I will. Your skinny arse is trespassing, squatting, sexual harassment…..”

“Oh, get real Isak. I just need you to drink that glass of water, and me and my skinny arse will be out of here in a second. Just drink the damn water and I can text Jonas and you will never see me again once he gets here tomorrow morning. Promise. Because believe me, I dislike being here as much as you hate that I’m here. I’m not made of stone you know, and I am not doing this for you, I am doing this because Jonas asked me to so for once get over yourself and drink.”

 

Well that seems to have shut me up, because I suddenly can’t think of a single thing to say.

 

Not that I am drinking his pathetic water. I don’t know why, exactly, but give me a minute to get my head in gear and I am sure I can come up with some snarky remark.

 

I can’t, apparently.

 

So, I sit down on the edge of the bed and think about admitting defeat, whilst he turns over and tugs the duvet over his shoulder. 

I sit there like a fool, staring at his naked neck, the hair curling around the back of his ear. I sit there and wonder when my life became this absurd. How Jonas somehow tricked me into this, and I didn’t even see it coming. Perhaps I should pay attention. Perhaps I should text Jonas and find out what he meant about my bloods being shit. I feel fine. I’m fine. I always feel like this, because I work hard and I am bloody good at what I do, and my clients expect perfection and I god damn deliver it.

I sigh loudly, hoping to get a reaction out of him. Wriggle on the bed.

Nothing.

 

“Drink your water Isak.”

 

So, He’s still being a dick.

Well I can be a dick too. And it’s stupid, because it’s just water. I don’t like water. I can stomach soft drinks and juice at a push, and a beer now and then, but water is like. Bleurgh. I could have drunk a glass of milk? Not that I have any in the fridge, because my shopping comes tomorrow. I think. I’m not sure I remembered to put the order in to be honest.

God, what’s happening to me? I am so organized and switched on and today something just went to shit and my whole life tumbled into some sort of instant chaos.

 

“Please.” He says quietly.

 

I suppose he is just as pissed off as I am. Dick.

Arsehole.

I drink the damn water, the whole glass in one go, making sure I slam the glass back down on the bedside table loud enough for him to notice.

He doesn’t move a muscle. And I feel a little nauseous. Like my stomach is rebelling against the sheer volume of water pouring into it like a cold shower.

“Even?” I say. I probably sound angrier than I should.

 

Nothing.

I get up and tiptoe round the bed, waiting for the inevitable jerk and abuse he is about to throw at me.

Nothing.

 

He’s asleep. That is absolutley obvious, his face all relaxed against my pillow, and little snores escaping from between his half open lips.

And it’s like all the air has escaped from my body. Like I am deflating like a slow popped balloon. I just stand there like a fool. Breathing.

Like foolish people do.

I drunk the damn water, and he’s still in my bed, and like the fool I am I just leave him there, tiptoeing out into the dark living room where my trusty sofa welcomes me with it’s musty smell and lumpy pillows and the threadbare blanket that has comforted me since I was a little boy.

I curl into it like a kid hoping for protection, whilst my mind swirls with unease.

I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t. He shouldn’t be here. Jonas. It’s bloody Jonas fault. Overbearing overprotecting always right Jonas. He wasn’t right about this. Not at all. All right, he can take my bloods and do tests and give me all the pills in the world, but I am fine. I am absolutley fine.

I don’t know how but I somehow fall asleep.

 

And in the morning, I wake up to find Jonas sat on the edge of the sofa, handing me a takeaway cup full of coffee and with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“He likes you.” He says and shoves a piece of what I can see is blueberry muffin in his gob. Chewing with his mouth open whilst winking. Idiot.

“Where’s mine?” I snarl, whilst taking a greedy sip of the coffee.

“Bathroom first. Give me a urine sample and I will feed you.” He says looking awfully smug with himself whilst I roll my eyes. Bastard.

“Whatever.” I’m not an adult. I never will be.

“Good boy.” He laughs. “Small plastic pot on the toilet lid. Fill it up and then come tell me why my cousin says he hates your guts but can’t stop smiling.”

 

My life goes back to normal after that. For a whole week. And yes, Jonas was probably right, because apparently, I have some kind of infection, and I’m now munching antibiotics in a dosage fit for a horse and feeling more nauseous than I am comfortable with. At least I haven’t had any video meetings as my forehead is mottled in every colour under the sun, and I am sporting something that looks like a black eye. Not quite the look a respected freelance IT programmer should present if he is trying to grab a contract.

So, I have been laying low and managed to catch up with some of the tasks that were trailing behind in my never-ending inbox of tasks. And I have been eating. Well, I tell Jonas that I am eating, and maybe ploughing through two packs of Rice-crispies cereal isn’t quite classed as fine dining, but I poured raisins and milk on it so that is at least three food groups covered for the day.

I’m not stupid. I know my diet is shocking, but. Yeah. I have run out of excuses.

 

I realize that Jonas is right, and that I am diving head first into all kinds of health problems, and that I will burn myself out into an early grave if I don’t get my stress levels under control. And he is bloody annoying because I know he is right. I just don’t know how to stop it. How to start living. How to.

I hate the word. He keeps telling me I need to. Be Happy. I don’t know what the hell that means to be honest. I am fine. I suppose I am successful and that should make me happy? I have friends? I think?

So now I am back in my unicorn slippers and my Dad’s old bathrobe that somehow ended up in my flat when he stayed over on a business trip years ago. Chewing a stray pencil and tapping absentmindedly on my messy notes that are spread in front of me. I know what I am supposed to be creating, and I know how to do it, I just can’t get my head to cooperate with my fingers today. Like I am distracted and my brain is all foggy with crap I shouldn’t have to worry about.

I shuffle out in the kitchen and find a stray banana in the bottom of the fridge, which I peel whilst leaning back against the kitchen worktop, as the world passes by outside the small window next to me. I can see human beings walking by down on the street. I can see kids skipping along, bikes moving around. Cars reversing carefully out of the ridiculously small parking spaces along the street, and a white van that does a perfect three point turn before sliding into the recently vacated space right outside the entrance to my building.

And I freeze up. Because. Oh fuck.

I know that van.

No no no, I’ve never actually seen it before but the logo on the side is kind of obvious and the dude now unloading a load of stuff onto the pavement looks annoyingly familiar.

Yeah. I freeze up, shuffling on my feet and trying to think. Think, _THINK ISAK_!

 

I could pretend I am not home. He will never in a million years buy that. I know Jonas and Even speak every day. I know they talk about me, because yeah, Jonas couldn’t keep a secret even if he was in front of a firing squad. He will just blurt it all out in my face and smile like it’s nothing. Like I am just discussing all your shortcomings with my cousin and you should be grateful.

Just for the record. I am not grateful. This is starting to piss me off.

 

“What?” I state as I throw the door open, almost knocking him out.

“Hi Isak! Lovely to see you too!” He grins back whilst his voice is dripping with sarcasm.

“You repaid Jonas. So just fuck off.”

I don’t know why I am being such a jerk, because. Well. Just because.

He just barges past me with a massive cardboard box in his arms, leaving the black thingy and the goddamn steam cleaner sitting outside my door. Which is kind of.

Weird.

 

And he doesn’t come back, and then I end up moving all his shite into my hallway because, like, fire hazard and neighbours are a thing and I can’t just leave my front door open and it’s like a lot of stuff.

He’s in my kitchen. _My kitchen._ And my nice tidy bare fridge is now full of annoyingly colourful plastic boxes labelled with cheery words like _Breakfast Friday_ and _Lunch Sunday_. Some are labelled _snack_.

I’ll give him snack. What the hell?

“We made a deal. “ He says, and pins his eyes on me to the point that I am frozen in place. We didn’t make any deals. None that I remember.

“You are wearing clothes.” It’s weird, because he is like wearing a lot of clothes, joggers and two hoodies on top of eachother and a big scarf and a beanie tucked over his head. It’s super weird.

“It’s freezing out there if you hadn’t noticed. Maybe you should venture outside one of these days and discover that there is a whole world out there. Things like other people and life and weather and happiness.” He snarls back. Yeah. I would too. I’m being a dick.

“What’s this?” I gesture lamely at the open fridge door.

“We made a deal. “ He says. Again. "I have made you meals for a week, all balanced and nutritious in small portions that you can just blast in the microwave for a minute. Just throw the containers in the box here and I will pick it up next week. Easy. “

“Was that included in the cleaning?” I ask, because I haven’t got a clue what he is on about. Honestly.

“You asked for food. I made it. You know for our deal? I cook for you, and you sort my tax return. I brought the cleaning stuff just in case your flat was a mess and needed tidying, but I can see you are right on top of things. “

Even is a funny fucker, I think to myself, totally sarcastically of course, as I glance over towards the sink. I’m sure the sink is still there somewhere buried under the crap I have chucked on the work top since last week. A few half-eaten boxes of ready meals, endless coffee cups and crap and about 10 banana peels. Charming. I kind of cringe, because he is right. I am not on top of anything. Least of all my game as I sink down on a chair in defeat.

“Here’s my paperwork” he says and hands me a fabric eco reusable coop bag. Very him. Of course.

It’s bulging with dogeared pieces of paper and envelopes. Oh, deep joy. Another paper filer who can’t deal with a simple accounting program. And I kind of remember.

“Tax return.” I sigh.

“Please.” He sighs back. “I am so fucked.”

“You look fine to me?” I wink. I have no idea why. Fuck, I am such a basket case.

“I’m serious. Can you look over it quickly whilst I clear this mess up? Just to give me an idea of how deep in crap I will be with my Dad?”

I don’t understand why, but I nod, and stumble out into the living room, where I kneel on the floor and tip all the paperwork out in a pile in front of me.

In a way it’s therapeutic, and I have done stuff like this before. Sorted out hobby venture companies who went in over their heads and are suddenly dealing with massive contracts and overwhelming overheads when all they have is an account book and a bloody pen. Even doesn’t even have that, his paperwork a myriad of bills and contracts and invoices that he has scribbled _paid_ on. _Paid_. _Paid_ followed by question marks.

I don’t even notice him moving around my flat, I do register the hoover at one point and there is a pile of sheets by the door, next to the damn steam cleaner with it’s annoying hiss. Not that it matters, because I am kind of done. Everything neatly logged on my standard spreadsheet, with notes on quirks and phrases to incorporate in the invoicing program and ideas for an automated booking system on the new website I can already picture in my head, and he needs a few select tastefully done black and white photographs that I can already see in my head.

“Is it really bad?” He says and places a plate of something that looks mouth-wateringly gorgeous on the floor next to me. So, we are eating on the floor.

I look up at him and my breath hitches.

“You look weird wearing clothes.” I say. I’m so fucking stupid.

“I didn’t want to annoy you further by prancing around naked when it makes you uncomfortable. I’m sorry. I know I can be a dick, but I really need your help. I can manage to wear clothes for a few hours. It’s not an issue. “

“It’s OK.” I say softly. It is. I mean, I had kind of gotten used to him naked, and all these, jersey pieces of clothing all over him is kind of. Weird. “I don’t mind if it makes you feel more comfortable.”

I sound strained, like I am struggling to be polite and he shrugs his shoulders whilst pushing the plate on the floor towards me. “Vegan chickpea and spinach meatballs in Thai curry sauce. You would never even know it’s healthy, just try it. Please. It’s really good, I promise, and tastes like the real thing.”

I don’t need convincing, and even though I am sceptical to the stuff he is saying is on that plate, I am too tempted and my stomach growls as I reluctantly take the fork from his outstretched hand and shove a mouthful in my gob. Then I swoon. And die of embarrassment as he bloody smiles like he’s won the lottery or something.

“You like it?”

“Gorgeous.” I mumble with my mouth full of whatever. But it tastes nice. Spicy and tingly and there is something soft and creamy in there, and I can’t even taste the spinach. “Hate Spinach.” I blurt out, then immediately regret it. He’s trying really hard. I am trying too. “But I can’t even taste it. It’s good. Really good.”

He nods, even though he doesn’t look convinced.

“Is it bad? The accounts?” He almost whispers, whilst I shake my head.

“I have no idea where to start with the income, because honestly Even, you need to start sticking the cash in the bank. But, if it all adds up you are, not breaking even, BUT, that’s not a bad thing. It’s a new start up, and we can make it work. Leave it with me for a few days and I will work on some ideas and see what improvements we can make to attract business and make a feasible invoicing system. “

He looks a bit confused again, biting his lip and staring at me like he hasn’t understood a single thing I just said.

“It’s not bad.” I repeat. It’s not. I’ve seen worse, and he is still a small business with manageable overheads. Not that that seems to calm him down.

“Thank you. “ He whispers.

“Thank _you_.” I say back nodding to the now almost empty plate in my hand. “I didn’t think, I mean, you cooked all that food? For me? I need to pay you, because this will have cost hundreds of….”

“I told you I can’t pay you, so you get this instead. Mum helps, and I cook for some of my clients so it’s not that much. As long as you enjoy it.”

He drags me back into the kitchen, and get’s all enthusiastic talking about overnight oats and bloody sausage stew and there is coconut yoghurt with pomegranate seeds and home-made granola which makes me all cross-eyed with confusion.

“It’s really good, I promise.” He laughs and my dick jumps again. Totally unexpectedly which makes me blush.

He’s cute. He’s annoying and weird and idiotic and kind of slow in the nicest sense of the word and the nudity? Weird. Very weird. Him standing here tugging at his sleeves and itching the skin on his neck where there is no doubt a label driving him mad? It makes me feel bad. He makes me feel bad. Not about him, but about myself. Because I should be a better person. I should be grateful. I should make him a cup of tea or whatever he tops up his caffeine reserves with. I should be nice, when I instead stand here grunting like a looser scrunching my nose up in disgust over yet more spinach in Monday’s lunch salad.

He itches his neck again and sighs as he closes the fridge door.

“Just throw all the containers in the box, and I’ll come back next week and pick them all up. “

“Will you do this again? Next week? Bring me food and help me….”

Yeah. That’s me. Expecting people to do stuff for me. I haven’t even offered him a sit down, and here I am demanding meals on wheels like a looser. I am a loser.

“Would you like me to? I love cooking, so it’s not like it’s hardship. If I do. Could you do that invoicing thing for me?” He actually looks excited. Whilst squirming with unease.

I do that with people. I told you. I am not good with people. It’s easier to behave like a jerk and people treat you like one back. Then people keep their distance and everyone is happy.

I like it when he’s happy.

He scratches his neck again, and I lose it. Obviously.

My arms kind of grab him and I swing his whole body around until his neck is in front of my face and my fingers are tugging at the fabric until I find the damn label. I hate those too, the way they scratch against your skin and the double ones are the worst with their little annoying flaps with the size on, and this one in his hoodie is a fucking triple one with that little plastic tag thing still attached.

I’m obviously the rudest fucker on the planet, because I tug at him so he moves with me, and I yank open the top drawer and rummage around with one hand whilst the other is holding the hem of his hoodie in a firm grip until I find the scissors.

Then I cut the whole thing off, the way I would do with my own clothes.

His breath hitches as I stab the blades into his clothing, chopping away with all the precision of an elephant in an embroidery factory. At least it’s all gone. I cut the last little pieces of annoying polyester out of his life and let my fingers rub his skin, where angry red marks can be seen.

“Better?” I say. And then I blush. Like an idiot. What the heck am I doing?

He lets his hand rub the back of his neck, and turns around to face me. Big grin on his face.

“See? You can be nice when you want to.” He laughs softly. “Thank you.”

I mean to say something snarky back. Something rude and off-putting to get him to leave. Leave and leave me alone.

I can’t think of a single thing to say. So, I shrug my shoulders and look over towards the floor, littered with paperwork, and two plates still on the floor, both licked clean. It was that good. It was really good.

 

“You didn’t drink your water.” He says.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

I know the exact second, he gets what I am about to do. It’s just that little sparkle that ignites in his eyes and he shoves me out of the way and sets off down the hallway with me hot on his heels. I beat him. Of course, I do, pushing him out of the way as we both collide in the narrow doorway, me diving headfirst into the perfectly made bed that I kind of lovingly made up earlier, and him bouncing against the doorframe before pretty much landing on top of me, flattening me on the bed.

“Get out of my bed Motherfucker.” He almost shrieks whilst I am wetting my pants with laughter. Literally. I got there first, and there is nothing he can do to get me out of his bed now.

“Motherfucker.” I squeal, trying not to die from the look on his face. Because he is all flushed with embarrassment and anger and laughter, all in one. “You know the drill Isak, drink your damn water and I will quite happily get out of your bed.”

I am not going anywhere. I am quite happy lying here on my front with Isak crawling all over my back, using his knee to try to tip me off the edge of the bed, whilst I have my hand on the wall, edging me firmly in my space.

“I am not going nowhere mate.” I hiss out, whilst he is huffing and puffing behind me.

“My bed. My house.” He huffs, and gives me a well-placed shove at the same time as his arm falls hard on my elbow, and yeah. It’s not dignified. Not smart. Not clever. Me, all fucking almost two metres of me, crash onto the floor with a very. Well. Embarrassing thunk.

“Ha!” he shouts and leans over the side, giving me a triumphant glare. Like he’s proud. Like.

“How old are we Isak?” I snarl out. “Three? That fucking hurt. Thank god for a bit of textile padding, if I have bruises tomorrow then I am suing you for damages.” I’m not, but he doesn’t know that. Wanker.

“Three? You are the one being totally inappropriate, violating my personal space, and messing up my bed…..Did you wash my sheets?”

His face kind of faceplants in the pillow as he breathes unnaturally loud into the fabric. Like he is sniffing them. Over-sniffing them. Like. Whatever.

“Of course, I washed them, all part of the service. If I had left them in your laundry basket they would still have been there, and I couldn’t see another set in your wardrobe. There was like one spare pillowcase. So yeah, they are bloody clean. You can thank me later. I’ll take your other load home and wash those too. I don’t do ironing, that’s extra.”

It’s a blooming narrow little space I have managed to wedge my body into, and trying to sit up whilst he stares at me suspiciously, is near enough impossible.

“Washing someone’s sheets is kind of… A bit much. Too personal. It’s weird Even. I didn’t ask for that.”

“Changing your sheets weekly, is kind of basic hygiene Isak.”

“They were fucking clean, _Even_.”

“I would suggest if you are going to wank into your sheets, then wipe it on a tissue. _Mate_.”

It’s below the belt, I know. And it’s bloody rude and over personal and I am crossing so many boundaries that I am kind of blushing at the cheek of myself. Because honestly, the little bit of sympathy and like that I had for him is fading fast here, as he pushes himself off the bed and holds his bedroom door open. Staring at me with that look that is very hard not to interpret correctly.

“Get out.” He shouts.

Whilst I try to get my legs out from behind his bed.

“I will, but not until…”

He interrupts me with one of his death stares. The ones I am kind of learning not to mess with. He’s fuming now, and I don’t blame him. Then he leaves me in my tangled mess as I push the bed away from the wall and manage to turn around so I can stand up, right in time for him to reappear with a tall glass of water, and he stares at me, pins his eyes right at me, whilst he downs the water in one, getting a little bit glassy eyed and flushed in the process.

“Now get the hell out of here.” He hisses. “Isak.” I say. Because I should apologize.

“Just go. “

“Okay.”

I push past him, giving him a little shove with my shoulder. He doesn’t even flinch, which somehow makes me irrationally angry. I don’t know what gets into me but I turn around and walk back up the hallway and get right in his face, totally violating his personal space again.

I’m so stupid.

I’m so fucking stupid.

“I like you Isak. You are a nice guy underneath all that bullshit, and for some reason, I am being nice to you. I am trying to be your friend, as well as helping you out, and you are helping me back, and I appreciate it, but this? All this bullshit anger? I don’t buy it. And I don’t like it. Just be nice to me and I can be nice to you back, and we can help eachother back and it would be, it would be really fucking nice to have a friend. Because I don’t have many, and according to Jonas, you could do with one. And I know that is a shit thing to say, but please know that I don’t mean that in a rude way, and I am sorry about the wanking comment. It wasn’t called for, and I apologize. OK?”

He says nothing back. NOTHING. Which is weirder than weird, but at least I said my bit, and I grab my kit and pretty much throw it out his front door, before slamming his door shut probably harder than I should.

 

It’s a shit end to what was a really good day. I had actually paid my bills with the cash Mrs Amundsen gave me, and I had picked up a new client, and made Isak happy with my food. That should have made my day, but nope, I had to go and be all stupid and childish again, instead of behaving like an adult and being professional with one of my clients, I had once again fucked up by being. Yeah. Weird and over personal and letting my mouth blurt out bloody stupid shit. Weird shit. Yeah, because that is one label that I apparently can’t get rid of. I’m weird. And boy, don’t I know it. Feel it. I even feel weird when I step over the threshold to my own house where my Dad is on the sofa reading something on his tablet, and Mum is on the running machine and something smells delicious coming from the oven and I drop my clothes in a pile on the floor with a sigh of relief.

I love being home. Which is kind of weird too, as I am far too old for still living here, but hey. Mum and Dad love the company, and we get on far too well for me to be desperate for my own place. I’m not. I’m fine, right here.

Which is a little bit of a lie, because I am after all, an adult. And I have spent the last 5 years living on my own, or with other adults, and being back in my childhood room with my Mother fussing over me and my Father monitoring my comings and goings, it’s just a little bit stifling and sometimes I feel like I am suffocating, and sometimes it’s weirdly comforting. Today, its weird. I don’t want to talk about it, and I don’t want a cup of tea and I don’t want to do yoga with Mum after dinner. I just want to lie naked on my bed with the window open and let the cold air prickle my skin.

I pick up a book. Put it down again. Pick up my phone and try to scroll through social media. I stalk Isak’s website and screenshot his profile picture. I don’t know why because it’s an old one of a younger, serious looking dude with short hair and less anger.

He’s so fucking angry at everything and it pisses me off almost as much as I am pissed off at myself. Why couldn’t I just have been nice and normal today and said thank you and good bye like a normal person after doing my clean and sorting out his food. I should have just thanked him and left with a cheery _see you next week?_ Instead I had messed up and been childish and foolish and behaved like a weirdo.

I try to ring Jonas, but he doesn’t reply, which means he’s no doubt on shift, whizzing around with Linn in their Ambulance of the day saving people’s bacon left right and centre.

I miss nursing. I miss Copenhagen. I miss being me. I don’t even know who this idiot I have become is anymore.

 

**JONAS: Even, can you go check on Isak? He says he has the migraine of the century and is dying.**

**JONAS: He’s not dying BTW. He gets migraines. He’s usually takes Imitrex, check what he’s taken already, they are stashed in his bathroom cabinet. There is a spare key under his doormat (stupid I know) Just go check he’s OK. Please.**

**JONAS: I know it’s early but I am still on shift and we are kind of overwhelmingly busy.**

**JONAS: I owe you one. And I know Isak is fine with you. Text me when you get there.**

**EVEN: I do have a life cuz. And it’s 5 in the morning? Dude?**

**JONAS: Just go, please.**

 

I get up and stumble out in the hallway, grabbing my clothes from where I left them last night.

 

I go, of course I do. Because, Jonas. He’s family and we look after eachother. And our Granddad is like awesome and Jonas. Yeah. I’m rambling in my head whilst I drag another hoodie over my head and grab a container of muesli from the kitchen, and stuff half of the fruit bowl in my pockets. Breakfast is a thing, and I know exactly what is in Isak’s cupboards, because I checked, and there is only enough stuff for him for his breakfast today. And I’m starving having kind of slept through dinner last night.

I just couldn’t face it. Couldn’t get out of bed. Didn’t want the small talk and the well-meaning interrogation from Mum and Dad. Well what’s new? At least I have nothing planned for today and once I have ensured that Isak isn’t dead I am going straight back to bed. Then I am Netflixing the hell out of my laptop and perhaps I will drown my sorrows in several cups of my mum’s Peppermint tea.

I tell you, my life is one long fucking party.

But no, the stupid git I am, I park up the van outside Isak’s and take a deep breath before yanking the door to the building open and dragging my feet up to his floor. And yes. The idiot has a key right there under his doormat.

I know Isak does these things for attention, and I know Jonas moans like hell about him, but I also know Isak has looked after Jonas more than he needs, and I know he was the one who pushed Jonas when he flunked out of medical school and plummeted into depression. I know Isak took him in and made him put his life back together. I know Jonas loves Isak to the moon and back and that’s why he puts up with all his bullshit and drama, and I suppose that’s why I put up with Jonas. Not only that, he’s the only one who is ever honest with me and calls me out on my own bullshit. Basically, he’s pretty much a decent person. Which I am not. I’m a mess. I do know that.

“Hello?” I call into the darkness. Because it’s still kind of in the middle of the night in my world, and I this is Jonas idea of setting me up for another go at getting Isak and myself to fall madly in love with eachother and skip into the sunset with freaking flowers in our hair? Well he will be sadly mistaken, because it’s definitely not happening. Nope.

“Isak?”

The kitchen is pretty much as I left it, the plates from earlier sitting unwashed on the side, and my heart skips a little beat and sings a very short song of happiness at seeing the tub marked _Wednesday Dinner_ empty on the side. He ate. Good job.

“Isak?” I shout a little louder, and I hear movement. From the bathroom where someone is clearly retching. Oh god. I gave him food poisoning. Oh hell. Talk about law suit.

 

But then I am a nurse and I switch on the bathroom light whilst Isak almost screams like I have stabbed him, before curling himself into a ball on the floor.

“Light.” He whines.

Bloody vampire. But I know migraines, and I understand. But I can’t help him in the bloody dark, and the whole place stinks of vomit, and Isak is all clammy and grey and..

 

Oh fuck. He’s crying. His whole body shaking with sobs and his hands almost cramping over his face trying to shield his eyes.

 

“Come on baby.” That’s my mouth. All my ideas of being professional and friendly thrown straight out the window. “Come on Isak, let’s clean you up and get you into bed.

He doesn’t respond, just sobs quietly and curls away from me on the tiled bathroom floor. Wearing nothing but the bloody underpants, and there is vomit in his hair and he’s such a mess.

Ok. I get into work mode. I know this stuff, and to be honest there is nothing here I haven’t dealt with before, and hell, Isak has seen me naked plenty and since he wont open his eyes whilst the light is on, well.

I drop my clothes and lob them out in the hallway, whilst I get the shower on, nice and warm, flushing the toilet with one hand and grabbing a towel from the floor to mop up the worst of the mess on the floor. It’s going in the bin. Sue me. I’m not cleaning that.

Then I gently grab Isak and kind of manoeuvre him to the shower cubicle. Because I don’t fucking care about anything else now than to get this kid sorted out and get some meds in him so he can sleep this thing off. And he doesn’t even flinch as I pull his underwear down, because we are kind of all grown ups here, and he stinks.

He’s also heavy as fuck, but I turn him around so he’s leaning against me and manage to awkwardly shampoo his hair, and mine, because to be honest I’m not sure where his starts and mine begins anymore with him all curled up with his face in my neck. I wash it all. Pour half a bottle of shower gel over us both, then chuck it on the floor whilst I shimmy us both down. Hoping some of the water hits between us and that we are kind of clean. His armpits get a little rub, and I unhook the showerhead and give us both a good go over whilst he squirms in my arms.

It’s exhausting for him, I get that, but I am not going to let him suffer longer than he needs to. And I know where he has a clean towel, so I get him all wrapped up and walk him like a truant toddler up to his room, sighing with relief to find he hasn’t thrown up in his bed. He retches again though and I run like the fucking wind to get the bathroom bin, whilst he sags down into the bed, shivering like he has a fever.

“Here baby.” My mouth says.

He retches. Dry coughs. Sobs.

“It’s OK. I’m sorry Jonas couldn’t come, but I’m here now, and I will stay with you. Have you taken anything? I need to know when you last took anything, Isak. Isak?”

“Threw it up.” He sniffles. “Two of the green pills. Couldn’t keep them down.”

“OK.” I say softly and stroke his head. His sodden hair all over the pillow leaving a wet outline around his head as I tug the duvet up over him. He looks small. Tiny.

I find his pills and sort him out, holding the glass to his mouth so he can get his meds down. He looks really scared, and it breaks my heart.

“Thank you.” He whispers.

“No probs. Just try to sleep.”

“Stay?” His hand grabs mine and my stupid heart melts again. “I hate it. I hate when I get like this, and I get really scared. I don’t handle stress well, and when things overwhelm me, I get all wound up and then I get migraines. It feels like I am about to die and my heart races and I just. I’m a mess. I just need….” He stutters a bit, trying to get the words out whilst his eyes are squinting into the soft hallway light.

“Just relax. Do you want a cold towel on your forehead? That sometimes helps?” Nurse Even is in full swing. Right down to the hand holding and the reassuring soft voice.

“Don’t want to be alone.” He whispers. Almost like he is ashamed.

“ Look. Isak. We both know that there is nothing going on between us. We both know that we don’t need to impress eachother or try to put on a façade. And finally, you are just as much of a mess as I am. And as I said earlier, before you chucked me out….” Yeah. I have to get that one in. Because I am not a nice Nurse.  “ We are friends. OK? And right now, I am here to look after you, and I will stay and make sure you are OK. So just chill. I don’t judge. Just like you don’t judge me.”

“Weirdo.” He huffs out, and fuck me sideways. There is a little smirk on his lips. I can see it, right there below a stray tear that is making a slow decent down his cheek.

I wipe it off with my thumb.

“Emotionally stunted asswipe.” I say back. Because believe me. I am the ultimate weirdo.

“Twatface.” He retaliates, snorting softly as the back of his hand tries to wipe his nose.

“Muppet.” Yes, yours truly is running out of slurs. In my defence it’s about six in the morning and I am exhausted already. Even though I am clean and smell slightly of pineapple shower gel. I make a mental note to buy some nicer shower gel and place it strategically in Isak’s shower. He’s never going to get laid smelling of chemical fruit.

“Look, I’m going to go clean up your bathroom, and dump your towel in the bins outside. I’ll be on the sofa. Just shout if you need me. OK?”

“Stay, just stay here for a little while. Please.” His voice is so sad, that I just nod whilst my whole body recoils at myself. Because Yeah. I’m an idiot.

But for some strange reason, I know what it’s like to be sick and small. I know that my Mum used to wrap a blanket around me and hold me. Just keeping me warm and safe until I felt better. She used to hum little songs, making up the words to make me laugh.

And I am an idiot. Fuck that. I’m me. Take it or leave it. So, I curl my naked body around his. Then I get up and get under the duvet, because it’s bloody cold, and I’m all prickles and goose bumps.

“Don’t get any ideas. I’m just here for comfort and warmth, and to make you feel better. “ I huff out as I get comfortable and wrap my arms around him, pressing his back into my chest.

He fits. He fits like a fucking glove, and my nose rubs against his neck and my mouth fills with wet hair and there is bloody pineapple everywhere and his fingers curl up in my grip.

Fucking hell.

I’m a little shocked at myself. That I did this. I’ll regret it later when he wakes up and beats the shit out of me, but for now? Fuck cleaning up his bathroom. Fuck going home. I’m kind of fine, right here. Warm. Nice.

His breathing is a bit hitched, but it calms down. Deep breaths as I find a little space on his back where my chin rests against his skin.

I try to think of a song to hum to him, but all that comes to mind is some rap tune. I’m not even going to go there.

“There once was this dude called Isak.” I start.

“Shut up.” He whispers. Which of course spurs me on.

“Who was some kind of computer maniac.”

“That doesn’t even rhyme Even.”

He’s obviously feeling better, speaking to me.

“He faked a big migraine”

Isak just snorts.

“So he could get me lain”

“I hate you so much right now.”

“You love me. Really.”

“If that was an attempt at a limerick that was the worst one ever. Truly. Go the fuck to sleep Even, my head hurts.”

“My head hurts from you hurting me.” I am giggling again. Fuck I am a mess.

We go quiet and I can’t help it. I hold him a little tighter, and my lips press a little kiss to his shoulder blade as I can feel myself drift off.

I haven’t held someone like this for a long time, and it’s amazing what it can do for you. Skin against skin, warmth. Human contact. His fingers in my hand. His heartbeat slow and strong against my wrist. I’m almost asleep when he speaks again.

“There once was a dude called Even. Who was kind of weird but a beaven.”

“That’s not even a real word.”

“Fuck off Even”

"He never wore clothing, but was full of loathing."

That's me. Fuck my life.

"And he was definitely a heathen."

 

I’m still smiling when I fall asleep. I don’t even question it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, and once again thank you to all of you who read, cringe, blush in shame over the crap I churn out, and of course to those lovely people who comment. Thank you. It makes my day when you do, good or bad. 
> 
> Life is slaying me in general, and I am struggling to find that headspace where I can just sit and write, but I get the occasional bright moment and hey, ho, here's another chapter! 
> 
>  
> 
> Big hug everyone. xxx

**Isak**

Stretching out in my own bed feels kind of ….weird, since it takes more than a few seconds for things to become clear functioning memories in my head. And I cringe, just a little. Because Yup. That was me. Probably crying and hurling the contents of my stomach all over the shop in front of. Even. Even of all people. Someone I definitely don’t want to impress, in any state or form. Well thank god he has left, and that my little sanctuary of an apartment is nice and quiet and still and …..I’m alone again.

That’s the way I like it. Isn’t it?

At least my brain feels like it’s swimming in some kind of cool jelly, whilst my temples are screaming. I need another dose of pills and a couple of cups of strong coffee and I should be back into some kind of functionable state. I think. I usually am.

There is a little bit of nausea curling into my stomach as I stumble down the hallway and take a long satisfying piss in the loo. Smiling a little then cringing again when I realize the bathroom is clean and smells sweetly of some kind of cleaning product that I don’t recognize. He cleaned up then. Damn him. I don’t like feeling that I owe him, but I kind of do. I think my tab is filling up to the point where I have to do something nice back, and that is so out of my comfort zone that it’s not even funny.

I mean Jonas is easy. I buy him stocks and shares for his birthday every year and manage his portfolio. When I feel my tab of things I owe him for gets out of control, I just buy him another portfolio and send him a screenshot. Which makes him laugh and reply something along the lines of not understanding shite of what I have just sent, but I’m sure he knows. I’m investing in his future and his retirement and hoping that he will one day be able to just enjoy a nice holiday on me. That would kind of make me happy.

Well bullshit. I know nothing about happy. And Jonas for all I know don’t give a shit about money, as long as he gets do drive around in that high-tech wank-wagon of an ambulance. That makes him happy. Even spending 12-hour shifts with Linn makes him happy.

It’s obviously sometime in the afternoon, with the dull light making big showy shapes on my living room floor, and the slow creeping panic descends on me again as I look over at my workstation, with it’s dull blinking modem lights and what I know is an overflowing inbox of messages that I should have dealt with two days ago. I should not be this careless, ignoring my customers needs and getting behind on assignments and jobs. I should just bite the bullet and write a standard apology feigning a random injury and promise free website upgrades and shit to sweettalk the bastards in still letting me handle their business and not go off to some of the very competitively priced big firms….

“Hallo there!”

Fuck. That's him. 

"Ughhhiik"

Yes. That’s me. Almost wetting myself on my living room floor and doing a very ungraceful pirouette trying to get my feet to cooperate with my body. Because yeah. There he is, in all his naked glory, nursing a cup of something warm in a cup and reading….a book. Who the hell reads books these days?

“Fuck Even!” I shout. Yes. Charming, I know.

“Hey Hey HEY!” He shouts back. Standing up and holding his hands out, like he is trying to protect himself. Thinking I might just launch into him. Which I wouldn’t because, hey. Naked. Not cool.

“Why the fuck…” I start, but he holds his finger up to his mouth and bloody shushes me like a baby.

“We are going to try something new dickhead.” He says calmly. Like that calling me a dickhead first thing in the morning.....afternoon isn’t the rudest thing I have ever hear.

“What?” I snarl.

“From now on you and I are going to be nice and civil to one another. No more name-calling. No more stupid shit. Be nice to me, and I will be nice to you back.”

“I am being perfectly nice Even. If you don’t mind, I have to work and I would very much appreciate if you could just fuck off.”

 

He just tuts at that. Shakes his head and waggles his bloody finger.

 

“I am going to make you something to eat, and then we are going to sit down and just chill.”

“We are doing nothing of the sorts.” That’s me. Look? I am totally chilled and civilized.

“Yes, we are, because we are going to get to the bottom of all this childish attention seeking you have going on with Jonas. He can’t always come to your rescue.”

I feel like punching him, and there is something venomous brewing on the tip of my tongue. But somehow, I just sink into the floor. Not actually falling over but I kind of shrink until I am the size of an ant. All in my head of course, because this shithead of a human in front of me, a naked, very naked human right in front of me, just called me out on one of the truths I don’t like to admit to.

He’s totally right. I attention seek. I call Jonas for the tiniest of reasons. I treat him like shit. Sometimes.

“I don’t.“ I lie, but it’s hopeless. I have already given myself away.

“It’s ok to admit that you need someone. It’s OK to call on your friends when you need them, but it’s a bit shit when there are things you can do to help yourself, and you could give Jonas a breather once in a while. And before you completely start to hurl abuse at me again, can I just, in your defence, say that I know you look after Jonas back and I’m grateful, because he can attention seek and be a drama queen when he wants to, I am fully aware of that.”

“He sleeps on my sofa when he’s drunk. And he makes me talk to his girlfriend when he’s being an arse. I do my bit too.”

 

I sound like a child. I am a child.

 

“Come on, let’s hug it out.” He says. Opening his arms, taking a bold step towards me.

“Ehhw, dude. Naked!” I squeal.

“Yeah,” he laughs. “So are you in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Now I cringe, because what the fuck is wrong with me? Have I become so bloody jaded that I don’t even realize that I am bloody stark naked myself?

“No bloody naked hugging!” I retaliate. Waving one hand in front of me for safety and the other is holding my junk. Which is ridiculous because we have been standing here having some kind of naked standoff for several minutes.

“Told you, we are not shagging, nor will we, so just get over yourself. I don’t fancy you, you don’t fancy me, so lets just hug it out and be done with it. Then I will make you a cup of tea and…”

“No!” I squeal. “No, no ,no Even. No bloody hugging.”

“It’s too late if you think you are getting away from my Weird-Even bacteria. Let me just remind you that I had a lovely nap earlier, all naked plastered to your back. And you didn’t seem to mind that too much?”

Yeah, now I am blushing and cringing even worse. “I was sick!” Oh. Good excuse Isak. “I don’t like all this…..contact.” I lie.

 

I loved that he held me. I did. I can kind of admit that to myself. Not that I will tell him. I wouldn’t, anyway it’s embarrassing.

 

“You don’t like cuddling? Ok. No more cuddling.” He winks. Then laughs.

“Look, just go with it. I’ve seen your junk, and obviously you usually walk around naked here at home, and it doesn’t bother you, and it definitely doesn’t bother me, no sexual innuendo implied.”

“Ditto.” I say. Nodding like a puppet. I have no idea what I am talking about.

“So….You don’t mind me being naked anymore?” He smiles in mock surprise.

“Look, dude, seing you in clothes was awkward. You look weird with clothes. I can cope with the nudity, just no bloody man hugs or cuddling. OK?”

I am talking too fast. Breathing too loud. Being stupid. And my bloody traitorous dick is jumping in my grip. Filling out whilst I silently scream at it, shouting for it to behave and go the hell down. I am not attracted to the stunning smiling sexy naked man in front of me, the one that is leaning casually against the doorframe and just smirking at me as I squirm in the hallway and retreat, backwards, into the bathroom, letting the door slam a little too loud behind me. I just sink down on the toilet seat and breathe. Deep long breaths. Just breathe Isak.

I have no idea how I have managed to get myself into this mess. And he is absolutely right that I use Jonas when I am lonely, and when I panic on the inside and can’t cope with my fucking mess of a life. I hate being alone. Hate it. I am lonely, and pathetic and useless and hopeless and stuck in my bloody gleamingly clean bathroom that smells of grass and lavender and crap.

“When you come out, I have made you a nice cup of tea. I bought biscuits.”

That’s him. The naked weirdo that has attached himself to my flat and won't leave. Then my stupid self has gone and made some sort of deal with him and then he cuddled me to sleep. And he doesn’t even like me. At all.

“Hate tea.” I shout back. A little more forceful then I perhaps should.

“No, you don’t, and we made a deal about being nice, so what you should have said was ‘Well, thank you lovely Even, and I will be right out and I will drink your delightful cup of Earl grey.”

“Earl What?” I shout back. Because despite me thinking I am calm, I have no chill. Zero.

“Just come out and drink tea you fucking wanker. “ He shouts from the kitchen. I think.

 

I do, eventually, hobble down the hallway and plonk myself on the sofa like a loser as Even smiles like I have just bought him a fucking puppy. And I am now wearing dressing gown and clean underpants. I’m like fully dressed, so fuck him.

He still sticks a cup of brown gloop in my hand and I sniff it suspiciously.

“When are you leaving?” I snarl. Because I am a wanker. He’s right about that too. I am starting to believe he is right about most things. Weirdo.

“Never, I am kind of hoping to stay. I mean we did sleep together, so I assumed we are getting married? I mean my Father will have words if you don’t make an honourable man out of me.”

He can’t pull that shit off, stifling giggles under his breath and spluttering tea when I reluctantly laugh.

“You are so fucking weird.” My mouth says, and he laughs “Ditto.” right back at me.

“I like you Isak. I mean all this treat people with kindness, alt er love shite? You have bite. And you don’t give a fuck and I can respect that. But, let’s just agree that we like eachother and get on. Ok?”

“You said, no attraction. You said you didn’t like me and now you do? Alt er love? Did you watch that damn show?”

“No?” He suddenly looks a little embarrassed.

“You should have. It was good, full of uptight wankers but, it was all right.”

I say. Freely admitting to a naked bloke that I watched some romantic teen series and cried over a couple of dudes in love. Whilst Even looks a little flushed.

“My mum was obsessed with it, which meant I refused to watch it.”

That makes me laugh, which is strange.

“Teenaged rebel, you.” I giggle. Then I take a gulp of my tea and want to spit it right out but I am a grown up and swallow it down like a good boy. Then my mind goes straight in the gutter thinking about swallowing that damn fine cock down my throat. It’s hard not to, when it’s right there staring at me with it’s little eye.

“Would you watch it with me?” He says, looking bloody sincere and now I am blushing. Because. Ehhrm.

“I have the latest Fast and Furious?” I counter, a little too fast whilst I sit up and adjust my dressing gown belt. I must not get a boner. I must not get a boner. He has a very nice dick and I want to suck it. I must NOT get a boner.

“Cars and chicks and idiots being all hyper manly? Nah. I’m good thanks. “

And now I have insulted him.

“OK, we can watch the damn Alt er Love thingy. Do we need to start from the beginning?” Why the hell am I letting him get his way? What is wrong with me?

“Haven’t seen any of it. Although mum says Season 3 is the gay one, isn’t it?”

“Wouldn’t know.” I lie. Again. I lie a lot these days. And I really should check my emails.

“Even?”

“Yes?”

“Can I please check my emails first?” Now I am treating him like he’s my dad and I kind of want to die.

“Let’s make a deal.”

“Another one?”

“Yeah, you get an hour to check your emails and stuff, and I will make us dinner. Then in an hour, you are all mine. No phones, or work allowed. For the rest of the evening I need you to relax, and then you are going to have a good nights sleep, and tomorrow you will be in good shape, ready for a proper working day. Don’t neglect your health, it’s important to listen to your body. We need to get food and nutrition into you.”

“And water.” I rabbit on.

“Water. I went down to your local Kiwi, and you know Catherine who works the tills there?”

“No?”

“But you shop there?”

“Yeah? But I don’t socialize with the cashiers. Seriously Even?”

“Nothing wrong with the cashiers. This Catherine is one of Norway’s most famous dominatrix instructors, she does courses all over the world in the art of Whipping, and Flogging, you know pain stuff. She’s also a Naturist.”

“Even. I don’t want to know.”

“She’s lovely, and really interesting to talk to. My Mum has read her books, and she’s kind of famous. I was a little starstruck when I realized where I recognized her from.”

“Even. Shut up. I need to be able to go down to the Kiwi and not have a panic attack thinking that the cashier is about to whip my arse.”

His laughter is actually freeing. He makes me laugh. He makes me laugh and that is frightening. It was easier to deal with him when he was an arsehole. I don’t like this side of him, the nice funny bloke who is leaning back on my sofa. I will have to get him to wash the blanket, because his arse is right on it. If he farts, I will scream.

He’s not farting.

He just shakes his head and picks up my empty cup from the coffee table.

“You have an hour, then your skinny arse is mine. And if you work a sheer minute longer, I will call Catherine and ask her to come and demonstrate some good spanking techniques on you.”

He winks.

I laugh.

Then I squirm.

Then I open up my laptop and load the email client. Then, I sigh. Bang my head against the desktop and whine into my hands.

I have an hour.

He doesn’t make the rules.

I hate him.

He makes me smile

He makes me fucking laugh and I want to shout out to the kitchen and ask if he’s staying the night and can he please sleep in my bed and I will drink whatever shite he offers up as long as he stays.

My life would be much less complicated if he just left.

Please stay.

Fuck my life. Just fucking fuck it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the lovely comments and kudos and fun chat in the comments. You all make me smile and laugh and I get all warm and fuzzy. Big hug. x

It’s almost one in the morning when I check my watch. Which is like. What the heck happened to time?

Isak is slumped on the sofa like some lazy-arse teen who can’t be bothered to use furniture the way the good lord surely intended. I’m sitting bolt upright staring at the damn TV Screen half wanting Isak to press next, so I can get my bolting heart under control, and half wanting to be sensible and say, enough for the evening, time for bed.

I do neither.

“I need to be at my Granddads at 9 tomorrow, to sort out his meds and give him his injections. “ My stupid mouth says instead.

It’s not stupid. It’s my job. Jonas and I alternate days to swing by and sort him out and tomorrow is my turn. I’m going to need to be there, come hell or high water. But this TV series is gut punching me in the feels and I kind of need to know what’s going on with the two dudes with the fluorescent paint on their faces and that Emma girl who I want to pick up and shake and who the heck does that Sonja think she is? Honestly? I was so into it I could barely breathe at one point and now Isak is twirling the remote control between his fingers and giving me a shit-eating grin.

“You can have one more episode if you make me another of those toastie sandwiches you made earlier.”

Well that makes us both laugh. They made toasties on that damn addictive show. So, paused the TV mid-episode, threatening Isak that I would sit on his face if he touched the remote-control until I was back.

He didn’t. He knows when I’m serious and….

 

I like him.

 

Which is a bit of a messy situation in my head, because he’s rude and obnoxious and…..cute and he laughs and my head spins.

 

Not good Even. Not good.

 

Well who the hell am I kidding. I knew I was gone for the bloke when his head hit the floor that first day I saw him. It wasn’t hard to figure out where my head was at when I kneeled on the floor and tried to get some life into his listless body, and the pale ribs sticking out and his knobbly knees and fuck he was a mess.

He’s a little less of a mess today as he sits…well more like his body is arranged weirdly across the sofa. Feet up on the coffee table and his arm slung casually over the armrest with the damn remote dangling in his fingers, and he is still wearing the damn bathrobe.

 

“You need a good night’s sleep.” Sensible-Nurse-Even says. Sounding confident, whilst my head is chanting _‘ONE MORE EPISODE, ONE MORE EPISODE….’_

“You staying?” He says casually and my head goes into a full stadium cheer.

“Of course. Would I leave you alone? You would totally sit here and watch the rest of the season without me. Just to fuck with me.”

He would as well. I have zero trust in him right now, especially as he laughs, and the air fills with bloody unicorn sprinkles and glitter as my mouth just smiles at him.

Then I pull myself together and shake my head.

“Come on, let’s go to bed. Then if you are good, I will wake you at 8 and we can have one more episode over breakfast and then I am taking the remote with me to work so I can make sure you don’t watch a single minute without me.”

“It’s just a TV show Even.” He’s smiling so hard that I can’t help but chuck an empty crisp bag at him. Yeah, because apparently having a 3-season marathon of some teen show does silly things to your morals and ideas. I gobbed down a bag of crisps, and didn’t even bother to read the ingredients, and now my stomach is churning with e-numbers and carbs and weirdness.

Nerves.

I shouldn’t lie to myself. I am rattling with nerves as I hobble out in the bathroom and brush my teeth with the nice new toothbrush, I bought myself earlier. Like I am moving in. I’m going to ask if I can get a drawer for my clothes in the wardrobe next and then Jonas will turn up and have me committed. He’s already threatened to, quite a few times today when he has texted me to check up on Isak.

Instead I catch Isak brushing his teeth over the kitchen sink and wiping his mouth with the tea towel. My tea towel. I bought one down at the Kiwi since Isak doesn’t seem to own normal stuff. Like kitchen towels. And I am just about to launch into a disgusted rant about him being a bellend and that normal people don’t go around bloody wiping toothpaste and spit on the freaking tea towel when he turns around and smiles shyly at me and my heart melts.

I kind of shudder at myself and turn the light off just to annoy him and he cackles and swears at me as I fumble my way down the hallway in the pitch dark.

He’s right behind me, and obviously knows his own home better than I do as I stub my toe on the doorframe and swear, several longwinded not very civilized words of anger, and jump up and down in childbirth comparable pains and agony. The fucking doorframe is getting it tomorrow. Fuck fuck fuck that hurt.

“You OK?” He says softly and gets under the covers. I can’t see fuck, but my hearing is perfect and he shuffles around a little, obviously getting himself comfortable.

“Yeah.” I sniffle, shaking my damn foot out hoping that I haven’t broken my toe.

“I think I broke my toe. I’ll have to stay here for a week now, so it can mend properly.”

 

Lame. I’m joking. Of course.

“Fine. As long as you cook.”

Oh. That was unexpected.

 

“Thanks for today.” I almost whisper. I can’t believe we are having a nice conversation. One of many today. We actually grunted our way through season 1, nodding appreciatively. Then we hated on Willhelm, the main dude in season 2, and cheered on the girls and yeah. It was good. Weird, but good and then we started discussing all sorts of weird things and actually had to pause the TV. It was strangely nice.

Then the bloody third season got me all hot and flustered and we made toasties.

It’s been the nicest evening I have had in a long time, and I think it’s messing with my self-preservation skills. Of which I have none. Jonas has told me enough times. Even my mum just sighs at me as I mope around after another disastrous date or hook up.

“Even?” He questions softly.

“Yeah?”

I roll around in bed, on my side. My side. I kind of have my own side in Isak’s bed. And that’s me giggling at myself like a loser.

“You know I said no cuddling.”

“Yes. I can respect that. I will stay on my side of the bed.”

 

I can. I can be sensible. I can respect boundaries. I am a nice person.

 

“This thing, us being friends.” He says that like he doubts it. Like a thousand percent.

“We’re friends. No ifs or buts. Friends. Easy.”

 

I am totally on board with that. I have no doubts. I am down with this enough for the two of us.

 

“Does this friendship come with…..” He coughs. Sniffles. Shuffles awkwardly in the bed making the mattress bounce. “Benefits?” He almost whispers.

 

I think I handle that one well, without spluttering spit all over the bed or wetting myself.

 

“Benefits? What kind of benefits are you hoping to include in this friendship Isak?”

 

_I’m being nice. I’m being nice. I’m all for benefits. Please tell me you want to blow me because that would be awesome._

 

He coughs again. Wriggles. The mattress bouncing to the point where I think I might get seasick.

“Stop bouncing around and just talk to me Isak. There is nothing, and I mean nothing you can say right now that will make me embarrassed or make me laugh at you. Just ask for what you need, and I will, within reason, perhaps agree.”

I have to catch my breath after saying all that in one go, and my throat is bone dry and I need water. Why didn’t I bring water? Did Isak drink water? I’m loosing my touch here, I mean the whole point of me being here is making Isak healthy and get him better. I don’t know what I am asking. Saying. Doing.

 

“Could you hold me again? Like you did last night?”

Oh just fuck my life, because now there are tears in my eyes and I’m all warm and hot and bothered and more than a little sappy, because of course I just bounce my arse over to his side in one foul manoeuvre and then I smile like the crazy human being I am, because he is naked again, and my cock fits nicely just below his arse and my body curls around him like it lives there and I’m planting little kisses into his neck without even thinking and I whisper “Thank you.” Like some love starved animal.

 

And he releases a breath, like he’s been holding it for hours. Like that took everything out of him to ask. He’s brave, I admit that. Braver than me.

 

“You can ask for benefits too, you know.” He says softly. “Within reason.”

“Oh.” My stupid mouth says.

“It’s only fair.”

He’s flirting with me. I hate him. I hate that he’s brave and funny and kind of… charming.”

“I like kisses.” My traitorous mouth blurts out.

“Okay.” He breathes. Breathlessly, whilst his body tenses a little.

“We don’t have too. You can say no.” I say faster than I should. Not smooth Even. Not smooth at all.

 

He’s quiet. No doubt thinking about how to formulate a non patronising rejective answer.

 

“I’m not a total eejit, I fully respect boundaries.” I state like an uptight plonker. I should just gently grab his chin and kiss the fuck out of him. Romance is a thing, Even.

 

“Kisses are nice. Just kisses. You can have one. A good night kiss.”

Fuck he’s cute. What the hell am I doing. I’m glad it’s dark, because I doubt either of us would dare to do this in the morning. We won’t talk about this in the morning, I know that already. He will just ignore me and I will ignore him and we will watch more TV and eat muesli and I will go to work and things will be fine.

Nothing is fine. Things are _fiiiiiineee_.

He’s twisting in my arms and suddenly there is hot breath against my cheek, and he’s too close and his chest is pressed against mine, and fuck his arms are tugging at my hips and ugh. Ooops. IIk.

Cock. Hello. Cock. Against Cock.

He has some kind of semi brewing.

I’m. Yup. Doesn’t take much to have me filling out nicely between the sheets.

He kisses me. A soft, sweet, super gorgeous press against my mouth and I make some silly sound I am not proud of, and then he releases, and I whine like a baby and kiss him again, because my arms are wrapped up around his waist and I kiss and I kiss and I fucking don’t know how to stop.

Fuck.

Fuck yes.

 

He said one good night kiss.

It’s going to be a long night, because one kiss won't be nearly enough.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Pagni who kept me company whilst she wrote Boll I fritt fall from her little writing office in Norway whilst I churned out this in my little office on the other side of the world. #globalwritingfriends #stottekontakt

 

The flat looks completely normal. The sunshine streaming through the windows, the branches on the trees outside casting dancing shadows on the floor, and across the sofa where the blankest are neatly folded over the armrest. The coffee table is clear and obviously wiped down. The kitchen looks. Clean.

And somehow it feels like I might have dreamt the whole thing. Apart from that my cheeks blush at the thought of last night. Or early this morning. Whatever time we decided to go to bed and then I said some seriously slutty shit and Even kissed me and I humped the hell out of him and oh fuck.

My head falls in my hands. I did not just do that. Yes. I did. I whined and hugged myself.

I am naked. Like meeting this Even dude has made me think that walking around in my own home, stark naked, is normal. For the record, it’s not, and I am not about to become some weird-ass nudist, just because Even walks around with that dick of his hanging out, and it bounces around against his balls when he moves and his arse is….

I groan. Loudly.

It’s almost 9, I have overslept like some teenaged loser, and I have so much work to do that my head hurts.

Instead I am aimlessly walking around the flat whilst the coffee machine hisses and drips in the background and I wonder when Even left.

There is no note. No text message on my almost dead phone. Nothing.

Not that I have his number saved, so I quickly google his stupid website and add his details to my contacts. Still no message. I am not going to send him one. We are not boyfriends. That, that whatever it was, that went on last night was _not_ a hook-up. That was stupid and irresponsible and weird and I behaved like the emotionally stunted dickwad that I am, and ….

I cringe again. Whine loudly in frustration.

We didn’t even talk, just snogged the hell out of eachother and he sucked those bruises into my collarbone, and I catch sight of myself in the hallway mirror and fucking hell, I am all blotchy on my neck and what the hell has he done to. Yes. There is a bite mark. On my shoulder.

Oh, fucking hell Isak. _Isak Isak_. I say my own name out loud like I am scolding myself for my own stupidity. Because there is no hiding from the god damn plain truth.

 

I pretty much jumped him. He kissed me and I humped him into oblivion, whilst sucking on his lips and making all those slutty sounds and he had pretty much humped me back and then his hand had closed around my cock and I had kind of grabbed him and then our hands had kind of tangled and at one point I was kind of fucking into his grip and then his cock was there too and he was kissing me and I was kissing him back and sucking on his tongue and he has the most amazing body and his chest is all hard and his lips are soft and I scream. Yeah. I screamed when I came. When I orgasmed and coated his hand and stomach and then we both rolled around in all this spunk and the bed was disgusting and if I look carefully at my skin it is full of little white crusty…

I throw myself in the shower and clean myself up. What a strange thing to do, but I do. Then I regret it because. I don’t know. It’s like I have washed himself off me. I’m not sure I wanted to do that.

Fuck I am a mess. Well what’s new?

I find the box in the fridge marked with the right day and breakfast. Then I pour myself a cup of coffee and sit down like a normal person and eat breakfast. On my own. Wishing Even was there. Thanking whoever is in charge of fate that he isn’t because what the hell would I say? _Sorry I got horny? I didn’t mean to it kind of just happened and you were there and you were naked and I thought?_

 _Lies lies lies._ I have a thing for him. I think he has a thing for me.

Cringe cringe.

I check my phone.

Check my emails

Sigh.

 

By midday I have all my tasks prioritized, I have emailed the most desperate clients and given them a timescale, and eaten more fucking humble pie over missed deadlines and delays. I write lovely little passages apologizing for ill health and promising all kinds of shit to make up for it. I will as well. I always do.

I load up task one. Then I sit there.

And do nothing.

 

Instead I think of the way I fell asleep last night. I was on my stomach. Even had his head on my back. I can still feel the dull ache in my spine from sleeping like that, but his arms were around my waist and his breath was on my back and he kept pressing little kisses into my skin and I kept purring like a kitten. Yes. I was that desperate. That embarrassing. That stupid.

And now I want him to come back to me so I can relax and breathe again. Whilst knowing that I will be having a mini panic attack the minute he walks through the door.

Maybe he won’t come back. Maybe that was it. He got laid, had a laugh, and now he’s done with me.

I still have his bloody plastic boxes. I can keep them hostage here until he comes and gets them. Am I worth it? Are his plastic boxes worth it?

The ping from my phone makes me jump and my mouth curves into the most stupid grin as I read it.

**EVEN: It’s lunch time. Just thought I would remind you to eat. And please drink a glass of water and take your iron tablets. Jonas’ orders.**

I contemplate making a booking through his pathetic website to ensure he comes back. He won’t. That wouldn’t even make him smile, and would be pathetic. It’s pathetic how I even think that I know what he would find funny. I don’t. I don’t know shit.

I text Jonas on automatic, then cringe at myself again. The last thing I need is for Jonas and Linn to turn up and sit on my sofa feeding me fucking muffins, and looking at me like I am a loser. I already know I am a loser thank you very much.

But, I got laid. Well. Heavy make out session. Snogging. Teeth. We both came. Sex? It smelt like it in my room when I woke up this morning. I’m pretty sure my bed smells of Even.

I need to work.

I don’t. I go and get my little wanking lunch box and pour myself a large glass of water like I have no control over my own actions. Then I eat the seriously disgusting stuff in it, whilst sitting at the table reading the financial times app. Then I sigh at myself and throw the unwashed plastic box in the damn cardboard monstrosity that festers on the floor in the kitchen. I drink my water.

He still doesn’t come back.

Instead I make him a god-damn amazing website. A fancy one too, with automatic invoicing, and pricing and links to little handy excel pop up boxes to calculate fees with potential payment from the council and discounts for multiple bookings. I even make a little graphic with a broom that swishes little dust particles around the screen when a new page loads. It makes me smile.

I’m pathetic.

Then it’s 7 o clock and the world is still turning. I eat my bloody dinner without turning on the lights. I finish off the last of the contact forms. Change a few graphics around and adjust the photo box where a few nice stockphotos of sparkling clean homes complete the aesthetics.  Not a naked cleaner in sight, and I have changed the company name to EBN Complete Solutions. Much more grown up and professional and doesn’t hint at any cocks and butt-cheeks. Although I have put the Naturist society logo in there for reference, and the appropriate links. I also need to research Even’s qualifications to ensure it all adds up, but I’m sure he will help me with that. If I ever see him again.

Jonas texts. I half-heartedly text back.

I get dressed. Then get too hot and throw my joggers off until I am back on the sofa watching some hockey match in just a T-shirt and socks. Wondering if I should jerk off on the sofa because I just got a whiff of Even from the blanket and to be honest, I want to cry.

I want him. I want him here. He’s not coming back.

I wasn’t that pathetic last night, was I? Should I have blown him? I would have but, it kind of, we were kissing so much and I never really. Really? Maybe I disappointed him. Maybe I bruised him and marked him and scared him. Maybe he looked himself in the mirror and saw the state I left him in and went _Fuck no!._

I am drilling myself into a right state there on the sofa, cringing and wanting to cry and contemplating calling Jonas and deciding to be all adult and survive this little blip in my great quest for singledom.

I miss him.

I barely know the guy and I miss him.

My finger hovers over the contact details and I even open up a blank message.

**To: Even.**

Then I don’t know what to type.

_I miss you please come and cuddle me!_

I delete that.

_Do you want to watch some more of that wanky show?_

No no NO!

_Thanks for yesterday._

I’m not 60, and I am not polite. Delete delete delete.

My fingers hover over the screen and come dangerously close to the little handset button. I shudder. Then. No no no! I panic-press all over the damn screen then manage to get the call to disconnect. And then he rings me back. Almost like he was sitting there with his damn phone in his hand.

“Hello?” I reply all flustered. I’m supposed to say Valtersen Solutions. No. It’s after office hours. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

“Hi.” He says quietly.

“You OK?” Thankfully my brain is working. Phew.

“Yeah, just finished my mum’s yoga class. Just need to hit the shower and then….”

“Is it naked yoga?” My mouth is stupid. I am stupid.

“Of course it’s naked yoga. The class is full, there are currently 16 naked people having green tea in my Mum’s studio in our basement Isak. I’m number 17 and I can’t stand green tea. Hence I have left to have a shower.”

“Oh.”

I’m so stupid. Why can’t I think of anything to say? I am picturing him naked. He is naked right now. He is going to soap himself down in the shower and I am not there. He is not here.

“You can come here and shower.”

Yeah. Smooth Isak.

He laughs, just softly.

“Do you miss me?”

“No.” I don’t even sound cocky, I kind of whine the word out.

“You miss me.”

“I’m not allowed to watch the rest of the damn show without you.”

“So…You only want me for my TV show watching skills. Or company….” He goes quiet. Then he sighs.

“Sorry Isak, I get all flustered talking to you. My mouth says stupid shit when I’m nervous.”

“Why are you nervous?” Says the guy who is about to piss his non existing pants right here on the sofa.

“You!” He almost shouts. “I want to come and sleep in your bed and have masses of sex with you, but you haven’t even responded to my texts and I haven’t got a clue what’s going on and I can’t read your mind and I’m crap at this, all of this. “

He runs out of steam and I hyperventilate.

“Please.”

MY.STUPID.MOUTH.

“Please what? Please fuck off Even, or Please come and fuck me Even? I can’t read minds. I need you to tell me because I am going crazy here. Absolutley crazy.”

Breathe Isak. Breathe.

“I ….I missed you today.”

Charming Isak.

“Answer the fucking question Isak. Do I mean anything to you? Or was last night just a clusterfuck of a mistake?”

He sounds desperate. Pathetic. Sad. Distraught. All kinds of messed up and my heart is jolting in my chest and I kind of want… to hug him.

“I need a hug.”

Right there. Isak Valtersen wins all the nerd-of-the-year awards. Fucking hell.

“I’ll be there in 20.”

He hangs up. Just like that.

Oh fuck.

What did I just do? Did I just admit to wanting him to come? Did I agree to bottom? What was that? He’s coming here in 20 minutes, and I am not wearing underpants. And I burst into tears. Because that’s been a whole day of holding it all in and now I am falling apart.

He just kind of shouted at me and I think he missed me and now he is coming here and I need ….

A hug.

Even.

My head examined.

Honestly. Seriously? What the hell am I doing?


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, they are wearing clothes in the visual, but I loved the picture ant it's very them, so you will just have to imagine the nakedness. OK?  
> And Happy Easter! xxx

He’s been crying. Oh fuck, I’ve made him cry, and it’s obviously obvious because his face is all wet, like he has tried to splash water on his face to dull the swollen redness and puffy eyes and it’s all so obvious and it makes me want to cry.

And on top of it all he just stands there with his arms hugging his far to skinny body in that threadbare dressing gown and I just….

I think I’m in love. I am crushing. Infatuation is a thing.

I just stand there like a fool, staring at him, and he doesn’t even move. Almost like he is frozen in place, whilst his whole body is shivering with unease.

“You have been crying.” I say softly. “Please tell me it wasn’t because of me. I don’t want to make you cry.”

 _Honesty is a powerful tool_ , my mum always says. For me it’s a bloody curse.

“Of course, it’s bloody you, and it’s bloody me and……” he stomps around in a circle and I take that as a cue to push in through his door and slam it shut behind me. I turn the lock. Put the chain on. I’m staying. I’m not leaving again until the two of us have sorted out this charade of emotions and innuendo and fucking horny-ness that is pulsating through me.

“Take off your clothes.” He says, sternly. “I can’t deal with you with all this….these…things on.”

See? Infatuated. I love that he prefers me naked. I prefer me naked. I can think when I’m naked. I think I’m less weird naked. I mean I can’t hide anything behind my skin. It’s just me. And he is still stomping around on the floor whilst I shred my clothes faster than light. Step out of my joggers and toe my socks off. They’re crap socks anyway. I should bin them.

Then I stand there like a fool whilst he still paces the floorspace. In his dressing gown. And there is a t-shirt underneath. No socks. Bare legs. Hair sticking up at every angle.

 

“I need help here.” He says, almost aggressively, but I am learning to read him now. He just talks like that when he’s frustrated. Scared. I think he is shit scared.

“I’m really frightened that I will mess this up Isak. “ I start, keeping my voice calm.

“When it’s a business deal, it’s simple. It’s like a well-rehearsed script. They need things. I offer things. They want to pay nothing. I want profit. We negotiate. I throw in freebies. They ask for more. I remove things they need. They back down. We make a deal. Sign contracts. I deliver. They evaluate. I fix it. Everyone is happy. “

He stops pacing. Thank god, because he was making me dizzy just watching him.

“You and I have been negotiating.” I start. I don’t know how to word this. How to make any sense of what I am trying to say. Well I am lying. All I want to say is, _come on babe, just drop the clothes and go fuck your bed into splinters._

I’m not saying that out loud. Phew.

 

“You’re OK.” He says.

“Gee, thanks Isak.” I laugh. He is ridiculous.

“You’re….like….you make me feel less weird. Because you are weird. And I am weird and together, we make weirdness….OK. I think. Fuck I am talking out of my arse. “ He paces again then stops right in front of me and his face instantly turns scarlet.

He wants to say something.

“I can see the steam coming out of your ears Isak. You are thinking too hard. Overthinking everything. I like you. I think I’m crushing on you. Hard. Like I want to be with you and make you happy, and you let me take care of you, and it’s amazing when you smile, and then we get on and laugh and it’s perfect and then you go all grumpy on me and I get scared that you don’t like me and it’s all in my head, and then last night was amazing and all I want to do is pick you up and slam you into the wall and kiss you and then we should fuck. I’m only being honest here, because I think if we fuck, we will get some of this crazy sexual tension out of the way and then, then we can figure this out. And by the way, I am staying tonight. Don’t throw me out. I am here and I am not going anywhere.

“It’s my flat, I can throw you out anytime. And call the police if you don’t leave.”

His face is purple. And I laugh. In his face. Because he is ridiculous and his eyes are wet and I am all mushy and emotional and I think I will one day love him so much that my heart will explode. His little dimples and his flushed face and the ridiculous dressing gown and all, and I am standing here stark naked letting him just say all these stupid things. Because he’s funny and sarcastic and… mine. It’s a scary thought. I think Isak is mine. He’s mine.

“I think you are my person.” I say. Loud. Whilst staring at him.

“Jonas always said you were.” Isak almost whispers. “He said we fit like a glove. I never thought he would be right. Jonas is full of shit.”

“Jonas is hilarious.” My mouth is talking crap but at least Isak is standing still. Right in front of me. A tiny tear of wetness balancing in the corner of his eye. I reach out and stroke it away. My person. My Isak. I know I am getting all over emotional and I’m tired and honestly? I’m exhausted after this last week. Trying so hard with Isak and feeling like a failure most of the time. And now I am here, stripped bare of everything. I even told him we should fuck.

He moves, his hands shaking as he does it but he reaches down and unties his dressing gown belt, and me? What do I do? I rip the damn thing over his shoulders and then I yank his t-shirt over his head like a bloody lunatic.

But there he is. All naked. Much better. Oh yes.

 

I don’t know who is making the moves here, but he’s in my arms and I am in his and his face is in my neck and there is skin everywhere and oh fuck I like this. I like this a lot. Just letting my hands roam over his body, stroking his back and cupping his arse. No underpants in the way, no bloody fabric and elastic to negotiate. I love skin. Warmth. The curves as it hugs the bones underneath. The warmth and the subtle movements of his pulse. The way his chest rises and falls against my own.

My hands travel upwards until I can cup his face and guide it to where I need it. Where I can look into his eyes and talk to him. I like talking. I should shut up, but I need words. I function better when I have words.

“What do you need Isak?”

He blushes again. Like his face could blush more. I love it. I love that these things embarrass him and turn him on in equal measure, because just look at him. And there is a boner happening against my thigh and I love that too.

“I need..you.” He stutters out. “Haven’t done this for a while so…you know…”

He was all confidence last night, humping himself into oblivion against my fist. Now, he’s shy as a virgin.

“Are you a virgin? I mean you have had anal sex before?” Me and my fucking mouth, because now he is squirming in my arms and I almost violently hug him, letting my lips kiss his head like I am peppering him with love bullets. I need to calm him down and not put pressure on him. I need to make him relax. I need to make love to him, not fuck him up. I have done that before, not talked about the important things and ended up in a fucking shitheap of embarrassing squirming when things don’t work out.

 

He doesn’t speak so I just shush him and hold him and rock him against my body and he seems to calm down, his body now limp against mine as I almost slow dance him into the bedroom.

“We are not going to fuck. We are going to lie here, under the covers, and we are going to cuddle.” I state firmly.

“ I want to fuck.” He squeals. Then he buries his face in my neck again whilst I try to push him into bed, then I stumble and kick him in the shins and we end up in a right tumble, but in the end, we’re all snuggled up as I fold the edge of the duvet under his chin.

“We can fuck. But not until you tell me what you need, because I don’t want to mess this up. I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t want to do something wrong.”

 

I’m going to win awards for being sensible at this rate, well maybe not, because I am still touching him all over and now I have found his balls, which I am gently rolling between my fingers. Like a normal person would. Well maybe not. And he is humping a little against me and there is something wet smearing against my stomach and he is making tiny little whispery sounds that I wish were louder. I want to make him moan. Scream. Shout. Beg me.

“I’ve never….you know. Topped. Bottomed once and it was awful. I….I know it can be really good. I….Fuck Even, I’m shit scared. “

 

I love that he’s honest. I love this. I think I love everything right now as I roll on top of him and kiss the living daylights out of his mouth.

I’m into this. I’m into this far too much because he just said he’s scared and then I go full hulk mode on him.

“Sorry,” I pant, “I just needed to kiss you. Because you are mine and I will take care of you, and I am just as scared as you baby, because I need you to look after me too. I’ve had sex, I have had really good sex, and I have had bad sex too, and I promise you baby, I fucking swear, you and I will never have bad sex. Even when it goes wrong and we laugh about it, it will NEVER be bad. I will never hurt you or make you do something you don’t want to do. Just say no, or stop and I will stop. Be honest with me, and I will be honest with you. I love fucking, and if you let me, I will make you love it too. OK? Promise.”

“It’s a big promise, especially for someone who…like me.”

He’s going to make me cry, because I can see it. All the fear. The hurt. The need. He’s just like me in so many ways.

“I’m……yours.” Is all I can say. Because I am a little intense right now, and he is fucking beautiful and I kiss him. With my eyes closed. I kiss his lips and his cheeks and his neck and his mouth, and he clings to me and wraps his legs around mine and I just…

It’s all I ever wanted. To have someone love me back, like this. Because even though he doesn’t say it, he shows it. His hands and his heart and his breath and the way he can’t bear it when I let go of his lips. He lunges back, biting at my bottom lip to make me stay and I grind my hips against his, whining softly in frustration.

I need inside him.

I don’t want to go to fast.

I don’t want to scare him.

 

“Have you got lube baby?” Way to go for going slow. I'm doomed. 

 

He reaches in under the pillow and produces a brand-new bottle. Cellophane still intact. Like he planned this. Sneaky little fucker.

His cheeks are flushed again and his lips chapped, looking like my horniest wet dream. He’s like every wet dream I have ever had.

“Slow.” He whispers and I kiss him, carefully and gently.

“I will never hurt you. Just love you.”

 

Fuck, my brain is fried. Did I just say that?

“I want this.” He says. “Please make it good.”

“You are beautiful.” My mouth says back, whilst my hands are lubing up everything. It’s spilling between my fingers and it’s on the sheets and his legs and I am now at an awkward angle trying to hold myself up and not squash him underneath me and fuck, we need a condom. Have I got condoms? What was I thinking?

“Here.” He says, ripping one open. Where the hell did that come from?

 

I reach over and lift the pillow up. Damn. Damn.

 

And Isak squirms, and rolls to the side, burying his face in his hands.

There are like 10 condoms. And a very nice-looking prostate massager.

 

“Wow.”

That’s me. I love it. Fuck I love him.

“I’ve never dared to use it. I don’t know what I was thinking, I just put it there and then I chickened out and then you arrived before I could hide it again.”

“We are so using that. I promise you, I will give you some amazing orgasms. Oh baby.”

 

Here we go. Straight on the road to fuck ups because the damn dildo thingy is far too delicious looking to ignore, and it will be great for loosening him up, and will feel. Ohh. Intense.

The damn thing hums gently when you get the vibrate going, and it’s thin enough to use for a first timer.

“You’ve never used this?” I say as I smear it in lube. I hope he has more lube because this shit is running out fast.

“No.” He whispers from somewhere underneath a pillow.

“Come back out here.” I laugh and dig him out, lifting his head up and stuffing a pillow under his neck.  “I am going to make you scream with ecstasy with this little thing up your arse. I promise. Now lift your hips up for me?”

“You sound like a nurse.” He’s smiling a little. Good. He should be smiling.

“Are you ready for your rectal exam Mr Valtersen?” I deadpan, putting a stern look on my face.

“Oh fuck, please don’t say we’re doing Doctors and Nurses now?” He’s laughing. Thank fuck he’s laughing.

“Mr Valtersen, I understand you are worried about not having had a prostate orgasm. I think that is something we can rectify with a few simple exercises. “

“Exercises?” He’s still smiling. Good. Good. Keep going Even. You’ve got this.

His leg lands on my shoulder and I massage his buttcheeks, moving gently in towards his crack. He’s nervous, I can tell, but I smile at him and churn out some more pathetic Doctor speak, complementing his fine specimen of a cock, and his excellent example of balls. I also express a liking for his fine arse, whilst my fingers gently circle his hole.

“Relax baby. I am not going to hurt you. I am just going to use one finger, gently gently.”

I do. I can do this, and fuck I want to kiss him whilst I do this, and then he does this embarrassed little sound as I breach him, and then he hides his face under the pillow again.

In a way it’s good that he’s hiding, because now I can concentrate and watch. I love watching my finger disappearing inside him. He’s all hot and the lube is doing it’s job and I bend down and start kissing his skin, licking at his balls, and yup. Oh, just look at him. Chest all flushed and hands fisting the sheet and his head still under the pillow and it makes me smile, because he will be screaming in a minute.

Yup. Lots of muffled sounds comes out as I start licking his cock. Just circling the head, nipping with my lips at his foreskin, sucking gently and tasting him. Gorgeous. Just as I knew it was. He tastes amazing, and I pull out my finger so I can add a second. I don’t think he’ll mind, being all loose around my digit. Two fingers gently prodding the opening and I take a deep breath and then I swallow him all the way down to the root as I press my fingers inside of him.

Yup, a little overwhelming as I thought it would be, because the pillow goes flying and he is thrashing around on the bed and calling me a some very rude words. I still suck him, bobbing my head back up in little movements before taking him all the way down to the root again. His pubes tickling my nose and my throat gagging with the intrusion. He swears. Loudly. I smile with a mouth full of cock.

“Now let’s get this show on the road.” I croak out and giggle because he looks wild. Unhinged. Like no one has ever shown him what his body can do. The human body is amazing. I say that. I think. Before pouring more lube over my fingers and jamming them back into his hole with a satisfying slick wet sound.

He howls. Not in pain, because his cock is rock hard and he’s leaking again which I swiftly lap up before sucking down his cock like an ice lolly.

To say I am turned on is an understatement. I love sex. I love bodies. I love human beings and most of all I think I love Isak. I want to turn him over so I can sink into him and drill him into the mattress. But I want to kiss him too, and then doing this like this is better. I can’t decide. I can’t think. And there is his prostate. Wow.

He goes all glassy eyed. I mean when someone finds mine, I tense up like a coil and go all shivery. Isak seems to travel into space, his mouth hanging slack and my mouth diving straight back onto his cock in sheer excitement. Then I think I need to fuck him. I really need to fuck him, and my fingers are scissoring and prodding and he’s all lose and relaxed and probably weirded out but at this point I don’t fucking care.

I just rearrange his limbs like he is some kind of super sexy rag doll, and stuff a damn pillow under his arse and throw his legs over my shoulders as he squirms and moans and says something that sounds something like _fuck me_ which is good enough for consent right now. Or maybe not.

“Isak.” I say sternly.

“More.” He whines.

We’re good.

I line up my cock and take another breath. Here we go. Wish me luck. I will either break him or make him love me forever, and that is a heady task. He’s mine. He’s mine. He’s my person. I love him. I will love him. I will make him love me back. I think.

I don’t think anymore after that. I just let myself feel. Feel how he clenches around me, how he relaxes when I stop and shush him, how my kisses warm his skin. How he breathes into my mouth and whispers words I can barely make out. I love how he roars when I finally bottom out, and he is all mine. I’m inside of him and he is inside of me. In my heart. In my soul.

Yeah, I’m over dramatic but. Hey. It’s.   


I don’t know what it is, just that I’m happy and he kisses me and his hands are tugging at my hair and his legs are everywhere and I slam into him and pull out and slam back in whilst he roars and shouts and moans and whimpers and then he kisses me again and everything goes silent.

Blackout.

Tiny stars twinkling somewhere in the little space inside my head.

I come like a fucking freight train. I just come and come and come. Spurts of something hitting the condom inside of him and I can’t even tell what’s up and what’s down.

His hand has somehow found his own cock and he is tugging erratically at himself, his eyes squinted shut and his face frozen in a grimace as his breath stutters. He’s close. He’s fucking almost there and I egg him on. Whisper that he’s gorgeous and he’s mine and please come for me and I love that you are here and I…

I love him.

How stupid is that. But he comes right there and then and roars into my cheek as my limp cock slides out of him and immediately starts getting hard again.

Go figure. He’s like a fucking sex god lying here in this damn bed full of lube and sweat and come and.

Me.

Him and me.

And I get stabbed by the damn prostate massager that is underneath me, as I burst into giggles.

“Forgot to use this.” I say. Like a stupid person.

But he just smiles and reaches for me and pulls me down on top of him again until we are lying there in the most disgusting tangled heap of human limbs smelling of sex.

“Was it OK?” He asks. Like he even has to ask when I can’t stop smiling.

“You were amazing. Better than amazing. Do you want to fuck me next?”

He laughs. Laughs and my stomach flutters.

“I need to sleep this one off first.” He smiles and then he looks all shy again. Like he has said something wrong.

“Did you like it? Bottoming?” I have to ask. I need feedback. I need to make it better for him next time, because bottoming is like awesome when someone knows what they are doing.

“It was good, because It was you. I trust you. You didn’t hurt me.”

“It’s not supposed to hurt, sex should never hurt. Unless you are into whips and chains and flogging, and apparently it can be a real high but…No. Not for me.” I stop talking and wriggle around until I have him right where I need him. Me on top of him, and his face in my hands as I clumsily hold myself up on my elbows.

“I will never hurt you. Please don’t hurt me.”

“I’m an arsehole at times, and I get scared, and I say stupid shit Even. But I will try.” He goes quiet again.

“Are you sore?” Please don’t be sore. I know I was rough but I used lots of lube.

“I need to clean up… I think. Brush my teeth.”

“Drink some water.”

“Yeah.” He laughs. We’re good.

 

We have a shower and I blow his mind. It’s just a blowjob but he comes in my mouth and I fucking love it. Then I make us toasties and we watch the rest of the third season of that show, all tangled up in eachother.

It’s almost two o’clock when we stumble into bed. He snores into my shoulder. Sniffles in his sleep. Wriggles like a 3-year-old, whilst I struggle to fall asleep.

I don’t know what to do with myself, because I have so many things I want to do.

I want to stay right here forever.

I want to get a job, buy a big house. Get a dog. Marry Isak.

I have too much shit in my head, and a house full of butterflies in my stomach.

I want to make him happy. I want him to smile. I want to live here, and look after him. I want us to be naked all the time and just love eachother.

I don’t know what I want.

I finally drift of with him snoring in my ear and drooling on my shoulder, and I think that maybe this is good. Maybe this is real. Maybe. Just maybe this is me. Right where I am supposed to be.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late but life got busy this week. So here is a bit of PWOP to tide us over to next week. Thank you again for all the lovely comments and kudos!!!

I don’t quite know where I am when I slowly come around, blinking awkwardly into the light from the window. I never pulled the curtains last night and now it’s like super light everywhere and my left arm is dead and my arse is sore and for a second this wave of shame comes over me like a red-hot blanket.

I try to ignore it but it’s right there. Me, Isak Valtersen, is naked in bed with some kind of god-like naked creature in my arms. I must be dreaming. It can’t be real.

But somehow, he is still here, all real and warm and snuffling gently in his sleep. And I don’t quite know how I feel about that. I love that he is still here, that he is curled up in a very large ball of limbs, and that my arms are all around him. My cheek, a little wet with drool, still firmly against his shoulder blade. Fast asleep, making little snoring sounds as he breathes, his chest rising and falling against my wrist. The one I can feel that is, because the one that is wedged underneath his chest is tingling like a motherfucker.

Somehow it would have been easier if he had left. Somehow, I could have coped with that, and just got on with work and let my stupid brain forget that I have gone and fallen headfirst into some kind of stupid crush. I didn’t mean to, and I certainly didn’t willingly end up letting him fuck me into the damn mattress last night. Then I went and got all clingy and emotional and plastered myself to him for the rest of the evening demanding cuddles and kisses and shit.

What the hell was I thinking? Doing?

Not that I am helping myself here, because I am wriggling my arm free, but am I being sensible and getting up and having a shower and making some coffee and getting my head in gear? Nope. No. The idiot that I am I am snuggling in even closer and letting my hand very cheekily grope him and I kind of do these little sloppy kisses on his shoulder and whisper shit in his ear like I know what I am fucking doing.

I haven’t got a clue what I am doing, but what ever I did must have worked because now he is growing a boner in my grip, and he’s smiling in his sleep and trying to turn around whilst I am all over him kissing his skin like an obsessed stalker of some kind.

I don’t get it. I have no idea what I am doing.

But I like it. Fuck I love it. I love his skin against mine. I love his little whimpers when I shuffle downwards, trailing kisses and licks along the way.

I might not be getting this again, fuck I might not be getting anything ever again, and having made a complete fool out of myself last night I might as well make a lasting impression. At least I don’t think I am too bad at blowjobs. I practised that a lot when I was younger, and then it’s my trick of choice whenever I land myself a hook-up. Which isn’t often, and I can’t think of anything worse right now, because I think to myself that the only cock I ever want to suck again is the lovely specimen between my lips. And it kind of spurs me on that he is moaning up there and tugging at my hair and pushing my head down. He wants it. I want this. Fuck I want it, all the way down my throat.

It’s not like you see in porn. I can’t deep-throat like some pro, and I gag and choke and slurp and make little noises, but dudes seem to dig that and Even is definitely digging this. I think. I hope. Oh fuck, perhaps he is just faking it?

Yeah, performance anxiety right there. I stop and look up at him, half expecting him to laugh in my face. Instead his hand is visibly shaking against my face and he pants out something I can’t quite make out before begging for more.

Oh fuck. And that, just that look in his eyes when he says it almost has me coming there and then, surges of heat rolling over me and my dick hardening to impossible standards, even for me. I’m going to shoot before he comes and that… Fuck…

I try to think sane thoughts, and then he pushes my face down, just gently enough but firm to the point that I whimper, and now I am leaking all over my sheets. Again. Well what’s new? We have kind of smeared half a bottle of lube into this bed already, I might as well just come all over it.

Not that I want to. I want to come all over him. I want to come in his mouth. I want to come. Full stop.

“Isak….baby….If you don’t..ahhhh….I’m….close.”

I suppose that’s him giving me a gentleman’s warning that he is about to shoot down my throat. Fair do’s, and no, I’m not going to stop. Or pull off and do some lame hand job to finish him off.

“Where’s the lube?” I croak out.

And he responds by pulling his knees up and spreading his legs for me, in an obvious invitation to do whatever I want to the gorgeousness that is his body. Oh fuck. I have to grab my balls and hold on tight, because that, again, almost made me come. Without anything more than the desperation in his voice and the total, dare I say it, sluttyness of his actions.

I am not calling him a slut. It’s just he’s so free in what he wants and what he needs and I wish I could be more like that.

I kind of want to smear some lube on myself and just ride him hard and fast until I pass out from the orgasm brewing in my balls.

But I am sore and it would probably be a bad idea.

Or not.

I lick his balls as he places the bottle of lube in my hand, and oh.

Hello.

Bingo.

Hey Prostate Deluxe pro, the number one choice of the professional Adult industry. Apparently. Whatever the blurb had screamed out at myself to make me buy it, but it’s now sitting nicely in the palm of my hand, alongside the discreet looking bottle of lube and then there is this beautiful dude panting and shaking a little and looking …yeah. Now he’s embarrassed and doing all those things that I myself did last night. Hiding under the pillow and wanting to sink into the mattress with shame.

“I’ll be gentle.” I whisper, getting some kind of insane Papa Bear impulse, where I throw myself on top of him and kiss him like I am starving.

What the hell is wrong with me? This is not me. This is definitely not who I am.

“You are gorgeous. “ My mouth churns out whilst I stare at him like he’s edible.

Which of course he is, because then I sit up and smear lube everywhere and I shake like I’m full of fever when I am not.

I’m full of him. I think. I don’t know what I am doing, or what he is doing to me, but I let out a little laugh, and he smiles back, all red cheeked and maybe a little teary eyed whilst my fingers start to carefully separate his arse cheeks.

I’ve never done this, but somehow, I kind of think. I know what I am supposed to be doing, and whilst in real life it’s awkward as fuck in your head, it’s actually totally natural once your hands are down there and his cock is back in my mouth where it belongs and my finger gently prods at his opening whilst his mouth shouts out something that makes me want to giggle again. Which is hard when your mouth is full of cock and balls.

Then the damn massager is all slippery with the lube and just slides through my fingers instead of gently slipping inside him. It takes a few goes, and I have to let go of his cock and use both hands but he roars when I finally get it all under control and the smooth plastic slides inside of him.

I wish it was me. Fuck I’m such a needy greedy bottom.

And yes. I say that out loud. Not that I meant to, but I’m so shocked at myself that I say it again.

“I can’t wait for you to do this to me, I think I am probably a damn needy greedy bottom.”

“Fuck yeah” He pants and his whole body seems to clench and release as the massager starts to slip out of him, and I push it gently back in whilst giving his cock a few good licks.

“Oh hell, you are amazing. Please. More. Oh. Isak. Baby.”

“You sure talk a load of shit.” I giggle and turn the vibrations on with one hand whilst the other starts pumping my own cock.

“Fuck.” I whine.

I shouldn’t have done that. Now I am desperate to come, and struggling to hold it back whilst Even shouts desperately as I think I might have hit the right spot.

He looks totally unhinged, his hips shaking and he’s wriggling all over the place and his hands are jamming the pillow back over his head.

And I lose the plot.

I’m not even ashamed to say it.

I hump the sheets like some lunatic, and suck his cock back into my mouth and the prostate massager just seems to do it’s thing as I nudge it with my hand to keep it inside of him. My nose buried in his pubes as I take him as far down as he can go, and yeah. Then I scream.

With a mouth full of cock and my dick releasing into the sheets and I think he comes, because his hips rise of the mattress and he is shouting so loudly that I’m sure that my neighbours think they have front row seats to the Isak Valtersen porn show.

I think I pass out.

I think I might have died, and killed him off in the process.

I think that might have been the best sex ever.

I think I’m a bloody pro at this sex thing.

What the fuck did I just do?

Oh, and now I have to look him in the eye and all he will see is that I just had his cock in my mouth and my fingers up his arse and then I fucked him with a Prostate Deluxe Pro.

 

The number one choice of the Adult Industry.

 

Fuck my life.

 

“I think I love you.” He whispers from up the head end of the bed.

 

I don’t know what to say to that. In my head I have all the answers. My mouth? Can’t say a thing.

He sighs after a few seconds whilst I bury my face in his groin.

 

“We are getting up now, and you are going to shower whilst I make coffee. Then I am going to shower and then we are going to talk. Because I need this to be something good Isak. I need this to be something we can talk about, and fucking hell, we need to do this again. Every day. All the time. Because damn baby, you’re amazing.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thank you for all the comments, kudos and love! This chapter is for all of you who made this weekend so special, nobody mentioned, nobody forgotten. Enjoy! xxx

12

 

It almost feels like I have entered another dimension. Like a parallel universe where my life is suddenly kind of….

I smile to myself and pour oats into water in the pan, and place it gently on the stove, trying not to make a noise.

Isak is still asleep, curled up like a baby animal with his arms around himself, drooling and snoring into the pillow. He looks relaxed, and at peace, which is exactly where I want him to be. He’s beautiful. Gorgeous. And I tiptoe down the hallway just so I can sneak another peek at him through the open door.

Still sleeping. Good. Arm now slung over his eyes and the snoring is loud and steady. I don’t mind. I love hearing him. I love him. Fuck, I think I love him. How stupidly cool is that?

My backside twitches, and I’m sure I blush at myself thinking back of earlier this morning. I just got laid. Fucked. Well and good. I can’t wait to do it again. I have showered and cleaned myself up, yet I can still feel him. His fingers and that thing and his mouth and ugh. Boner alert.

We didn’t get up, instead we snuggled and he fell asleep in my arms and I just stayed there, stroking his hair, holding him whilst he slept. I could have stayed there all day, if it wasn’t for my 11.30 appointment with Ms Anita, and I really need to batch cook later for my food clients. I have things to do, yet here I am, standing here, lazily making porridge, letting my mind wander.

I can kind of see us, living here. I wouldn’t mind living here. The kitchen is good, just needs some proper utensils and large pans, and I could easily work from here. I might need to see if he will let me have some space in the cupboards for ingredients, and I could just fit my Magimix machine over by the window. It would be great.

Or not. Fuck. I want this. I have it all planned out in my head. Please. Fuck please let this work out.

It’s not just sex. Don’t get me wrong, the sex. Wow. But it’s him. He’s hopeless, and sweet and grumpy and rude and funny and…..bloody perfect.

And there he is, stumbling into the kitchen all naked, rubbing his eyes, and landing in my arms so I can hug him and rub his back and kiss his shoulder and he’s all sleep-warm and gorgeous.

“Love that you are naked.” I whisper. Because I do. He doesn’t make it a big deal. Never made me feel weird about it. Well I am lying there. He freaked out and fainted. Then shouted at me. Called me names. Still?

“I like naked.” He mumbles back, his mouth full of my hair.

“Me too.” I giggle back whilst my left hand is cupping his bum and the other one is busy roaming all over his back.

“What are you making?” he tries to peek over my shoulder whilst I try to get my mouth to reach his face. His cheeks. His mouth would be good.

“Kisses.” I hum and he obliges. Big soft wet sloppy kisses. Going for it like he is starving.

“Hungry?’’ I moan into his mouth.

“Ravenous.” He moans back.

“Porridge.” I mumble in between biting his bottom lip and trying to lick the tip of his nose. He just swats me away and grimaces.

“Seriously? Porridge? How old are we? Five?”

“Porridge is brilliant. Mine is the best, and I am going to get you some condiments, like maple syrup and brown sugar and organic dried fruit. Best porridge ever, and some almond milk on top, and just a dash of stewed apple.”

“You’re so weird.” He laughs. “What’s wrong with coffee and cornflakes?”

“Bloody over processed sugary crap.” I laugh. “Not good enough for you baby. You need to eat like a king, and I am going to feed you all the yummiest shit you can imagine. Like my super porridge and my Mum has a friend who roasts her own coffee, it’s super nice. I’ll ask her to get us some.”

“She roasts Coffee? Naked I assume?”

God he is ridiculous, but then he is licking my neck and might be a bit distracted by my fingers playing with his nipples.

“No, not my Mum, a friend. Not a naturist. Normal person who roasts coffee whilst wearing clothes. You know, not everyone is a Naturist. We do socialize with clothed people too, you know.”

“Just kidding.” He smiles. I smile. We both blush. Fuck. Awkward.

“Please don’t make this weird.” I whisper. “I don’t want it to be weird.”

“Not weird.” He whispers back.

“I really like you.” Yeah. Still whispering.

“Me too. I like you. I like…everything about you. Even the weird bits.” Isak is looking right at me, and there it is, the little twinkle in his eyes that makes me all weak in the knees. Fuck I love him.

“I really really want this to work. I want to be with you, and do the whole being together thing. I don’t want to be friends who fuck, or just hook up. I want to be in love with you and I want you to be happy and you make me happy. This, right here, just waking up and cuddling with you and making you porridge makes me happy.”

Way to go Even, rambling away whilst Isak is pushing me away and grappling for the tea towel on the counter.

Oh.   
SHIT.

Yeah. That’s the porridge boiling over and the nice neat stove is now covered in greyish slime whilst Isak is kind of dabbing at it with my nice new clean tea towel.

“Sorry…Oh…shit, just leave it.”

That’s me being all flustered and trying to lower the heat and rescue Isak’s breakfast. I wanted to make it perfect. And now? It’s probably burnt on the bottom as well and I can feel my bottom lip quivering and my eyes stinging and I’m a bloody fuck up, again, who can’t even cook his boyfriend porridge.

See? Boyfriend. I am way ahead of myself here, standing here all stunned by my own stupidity whilst Isak is running the tea towel under the tap and trying to rinse sticky oats out of the fabric.

“I am in love with you and I don’t know what to do about it. It just makes me all flustered and I don’t know how we are going to do this and I don’t know if you even want to. I just want to be with you. Sorry, I know I am too much. I’ll just go and get my stuff and I will leave you to work.”

That’s me. Because it’s almost 10, and in all honesty I should go. Let him get on with his day and be all normal. Not clingy and pathetic and standing here terrified that I will burst into tears or get a boner….or….both. Fuck.

Because now I’ve weirded him out, completely. Isak is standing right there with the tap running on full blast and the soaking tea towel dripping dirty water on the floor. Whilst he stares at me and I stare back and I can’t read him anymore. He’s all over the place going from angry to weird to flustered to maybe about to smile and then he is reining himself in again and just creepy staring at me.

“Are you coming back? Later?” He asks, and I still don’t know. Is he angry? Sad? Does he want me to?

“Can I sleep here?”

I have to ask. I need to. Please.

“Yes…of course. Please. Just come.” There goes the dirty tea towel back in the sink, and he slams the tap down and wipes his hands on his naked hips and then growls like he just did something stupid. (He did.) His hips are wet and his hands are up in the air and he stomps around in a circle before grabbing my fabric shopping bag off the floor and angrily wiping his hands on it. Then his hips. I’m never washing it again. I’m going to carry it around with me all day sniffing it.

I’m officially creepy. And I know it.

“I meant it Isak. I want to see you. Tonight, and every night. I think, I know I am way ahead of myself here, but I think you and I would be so bloody good together. But that’s just me, if you need space just tell me and I will fuck off and wait for you to call….”

“Shut up.” He says, smiling. Then he kind of throws himself at me and slams me into the fridge door knocking a fridge magnet and some papers off the door, but I am too mesmerized to care. He’s right there. Face in my face. Nose against the tip of mine. Staring at me and I can’t see his mouth. I don’t know if he’s smiling or what he is doing but I kiss him. I just can’t help myself. Just small pecks on his lips. One after another. Mine. Mine mine mine.

“You’re mine.” I whine. Pathetic. I’m going to start to cry now, there are just feelings. Bloody feelings and wants and needs and dreams and hopes and bloody…..stupid emotions.

“I’ve never met anyone like you before. You’re bloody weird Even.”

If I wasn’t so emotional, I would have laughed in his face. Instead I want to punch him in the stomach. I don’t of course.

“I tell you I love you, and you tell me I’m weird? Way to go to kill a guy trying to woo you.” I stutter out. I’m trying to be funny here.

Fail.

“You don’t love me, you’ve only just met me and I’m still a grumpy rude bastard with a prostate massager under his pillow and I can’t keep my flat clean to save my life and I will die an early death from dehydration and living off cereal and coffee. Jonas tells me every day. You don’t love me.”

He’s waving his hands around in the air, almost looking angry. At least he’s talking to me and not pushing me out the front door.

“That doesn’t mean that we can’t make eachother happy?” I try. I don’t dare to say the love word again. Apparently, that freaks him out. I can tell, because he’s stomping around again.

“Stop jumping around like a Duracell bunny, and come here.” Gotta do what a man’s gotta do. And I have things to do.

“Why?”

“Because I need to know where I stand!” I shout.

Fuck. Desperate Even is out in full swing. Tears due any second.

“You are standing in my kitchen.” He deadpans.

I would laugh. I kind of try to and end up just pathetically spitting saliva out of my mouth.

And the bastard he is? He just smiles.

“I need to go see clients and cook and see Mum and do her Mindfulness class at 4. After that I want to come back here and have dinner with you and then I want to cuddle and go to lie in your bed. With you. And I want you to fuck me until I lose my mind and then we should sleep. That’s what I want.”

“We can do that?” He says. Like I’ve asked him to perform some mundane task. Like clean the stove.

“I wasn’t finished.” I huff. I’m nowhere near finished. “Then tomorrow I want to get up and blow you before breakfast, and then I want to come back after work and you can blow me. Like in return. Then we should go for a walk and chill. Have a beer somewhere, and then go home and fuck. Like bunny rabbits. Then sleep. Next morning, rinse and repeat. Saturday you should come for dinner….”

 

“I get the idea Even.” Isak says, almost too calm, whilst I am panting for breath. I think I forgot to breathe in-between sentences.

 

“You don’t. I want this. I want the whole shebang. The fairy-tale. I want to be your boyfriend and I want it all.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” He laughs. “I kind of got that bit.”

 

Fuck he drives me crazy. So bloody dry. Yet he just stands there with his arms crossed and an almost triumphant smile on his face.

 

“Say something!” I shout. Again. I need to stop shouting but he’s so bloody frustrating.

 

“Porridge is fucked. The bottom of the pan is burning.” He says calmly, nodding towards the cloud of smoke rising from the pan.

 

I lean over and turn the heat off.

“Fuck the bloody porridge.”

“No thanks, but I’ll gladly fuck you tonight, with my dick, if the offer still stands?”

 

Bloody Isak. Now I am laughing. Coughing a little from the smoke. Damn. Damn Damn Damn.

 

“Cornflakes?” He laughs and hands me the box.

“OK?” I say weakly. Fuck. What is he doing to me?

“And by the way, you can come and sleep here every night. I don’t mind. I want you here as much as you can, just come and hang out. I need to work until 6 most days but I would love it if you were here. Keeping me company. Having a cup of coffee now and then, and giving me kisses.”

“I can do that? I could even offer a 3 o'clock coffee break with a blowjob thrown in? Just to kind of relax you. You know?”

He laughs. I’m fist bumping in my head. Cheering silently.

“You are so weird Even.”

“I hate you.”

That’s me. I don’t hate him. He’s kissing me again, crawling all over me, pressing me up against the fridge and now the boner is back. Cheeks flaming. Teeth clashing. I need to eat. I need to go. I don’t want to go anywhere.

“You love me. You told me earlier. Even if I’m an idiot most of the time, and I am rude and not very good at this relationship thing, but, I kind of think….”

 

He leans back and looks at me. Really looks at me. Like he is trying to figure me out.

 

“You want to do this? Be my boyfriend? Just me and you, like exclusive?”

“Is there anyone else?” Fuck. I hadn’t even asked.

“Noooo!” He laughs. “Just you. Seriously? Don’t you think I would have said something by now? We’ve been fucking for what? 24 hours? There is nobody else. I’m not a jerk, and I wouldn’t do that, I don’t cheat. I never will, trust me. You and me. Period.”

He’s stupid.

I’m so bloody stupid because here come the tears. Big chunky sobs coming out of my head and crocodile tears running down my cheeks and he kisses my lips and just holds me as I cry. I fucking cry. I couldn’t even tell you why, I’m just kind of relieved. Happy. I think we’re on the same page. We’re fucking, yeah, but he said _you and me_. He said a lot of things and reading between the lines I think he kind of said what I needed to hear.

“You love me too?” I slobber.

 

I’m a child.

 

“I fucking adore you. Like you even have to ask.” He says sternly whilst I have snot running down my nose which I try to wipe away with my hand.

“Sorry. I’m disgusting.” I whinge and he just grabs my hand and kisses it, then reaches for the last clean tea towel on the side, which he uses to wipe my face. If I wasn’t so bloody mesmerized with him and too emotional to even think rationally, I would have shouted at him. _No snot on the bloody teatowels!_

“I love you.” He says softly. Almost like he is tasting the words. “I think I do. Too. You, you have kind of ..I don’t know. I don’t know what to say.” Instead he shakes his head and kisses me again. Does another round of wiping my face with the tea towel. “Can I interest you in some Co-op own brand cheap copy Cornflakes? With real fucking milk? And Instant coffee? I have no bloody organic shite to offer mate.”

“I’m lactose intolerant and vegan.” I snap back, and his face is a picture.

“This is never going to work.” He laughs.

“This will work just fine.” I giggle. “Give me 5 minutes to make a fresh batch of porridge, and you make the coffee and we will have breakfast and then I really need to go.”

 

I kiss him. He kisses me back.

 

“Then you will come back tonight and you will let me fuck you?”

 

Blunt Isak? He looks serious as well, and I blow my nose in the damn tea towel. I’m buying a new batch today and taking these home to wash.

“We are going to fuck. A lot. Whatever you want.” I wink. He blushes. I giggle like a kid and he snorts. And kisses me. And he has a semi. Fuck. I'm going to be so late.

 

It’s going to be weird. I know. But we can apparently talk about it and it’s fine. I love him. I think he loves me back. I hope. We’re fucking tonight. I’m bringing dinner, and I already know what to cook him, and there will be dessert and I need to buy teatowels and should really be at Ms Anita’s in 40 minutes.

It doesn’t matter. Nothing does. Instead I grab his arm and pull him in and squeeze the living daylights out of his skinny body whilst he squeals and playfights me and threatens to kick me out and pour milk on my bloody porridge.

I love him. It’s just that easy.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bit snowed under with ficwriting and getting the final edits of Open Water approved and yeah. Real life. But here's a tiny update and I will be back with Infinity next weekend and more crayzeeee fics and I have so many new ideas and plot bunnies running riot. Yes. You get the idea.  
> Thank you again for all the comments and kudos and messages and squishy hugs. xxxx

 

I’m surprisingly calm. Totally chill. Nah. Who am I kidding? I’m sweating like it’s some heatwave going on, when in reality it’s nice and cool in my flat. I have all the windows open and have downed 3 cups of coffee in the last hour, am almost caught up with today’s work, and I have made a good start on Even’s tax return. I missed eating lunch, but wolfed it down like a lunatic twenty minutes ago so Even wouldn’t notice and tell me off. I kind of felt a pang of shame over that. See? I make myself all these promises, I make all these promises to Jonas and now to Even and I don’t keep any of them.

At least? I’m happy. I’m so fucking happy my head is spinning. I caught myself smiling into the camera during my video conference with the Antitheatret director, where I ate humble pie over my late delivery of their new budgeting package. I laughed. Fuck my life. He’s a nice dude to deal with, and I must give him credit for taking it well. I bloody discounted everything so I have probably barely made a profit on that job, but whatever. Happy Client. Happy fucking me.

I have also had a shower and cleaned myself up, and then. Fuck. I googled all this stuff about enemas and cleaning yourself and prepping for anal sex and then I blushed in shame because I didn’t do any of that and maybe. Fuck. I don’t want to think about it. Maybe I was all dirty and smelly and Even fucked me and I really liked it.

It’s kind of strange to think back at that, but I did. It made me, I don’t know. I let loose. I never let loose but somehow he made me feel safe and I fucking lost the plot. And the strangest thing is that I can’t wait to do it again. I want him to take me apart. I want him to just be there with his hands and his mouth and his eyes all on me and that bloody mouth on him. Yeah. That’s my body shivering all over and for a second I contemplate going for a wank to just take some pressure off. Which was interupted by Jonas and Linn who awkwardly sat on my sofa eating boller for half an hour whilst I said nothing and Jonas just laughed.

Even is late, doing something with his parents again, and I kind of want to scream. Instead I punish myself by Googling Naturism. Nudism. Nudies. Naked orgies.

Which is not a thing. I know that. I still read up on it all. Blog after blog. What do you do if your partner is a Naturist? Nothing apparently. People live happily ever after with one partner being naked and the other not. Some people become naturists too? Fuck that. Parties? Meeting the parents? There are links to Naturists, who apparently care about nature, are strict vegetarians, sometimes don’t drink or smoke and yeah, are all into nature and shit. There are Nudists who just want to be naked, like all the time. And nobody has sex. It’s not about sex. Yeah. I got that part.

There are nudist holidays. Nudist beaches. Nudist camp. Nudist cruises. Naturist getaways. Naturist conferences. Photos of 300 naked people on the steps of the Sydney opera house.

I slam the laptop shut and panic. I’m not proud of myself.

**ISAK: What if I don’t want to be a naturist and just want to wear clothes and eat steak and be all fucking normal? How is that going work Even?**

**EVEN: STOP GOOGLING SHIT**

I should stop Googling. That’s a good start.

**ISAK: I want to wear clothes. And sometimes be naked. Like in bed, with you. How is that going to work? I don’t want to meet your naked parents.**

**ISAK: I mean of course, I will meet your parents one day, but I kind of don’t want to stare at their bits. Do you see what I mean? Fuck. I sound like a spoilt dork. I can’t cope with this shit.**

**EVEN: Calm the fuck down baby. I am bringing you home to meet Mum and Dad tomorrow, and they will be clothed, I promise. We are totally normal people Isak, and they will adore you. Mum and Dad are vegans, and they are both really good at cooking. You will eat great food, and I will buy you a burger on the way home. How’s that?**

**ISAK: You are not normal Even. You are a total weirdo, and you know it. I love you but I don't know shit about all this stuff.**

**EVEN: Shall I give you the quick lowdown on being a good old honest Naturist? Would that calm you down?**

**ISAK: Yeah. Maybe?**

**EVEN: OK. Chill. Mum and Dad have ideals and theories about life and things they believe in. Like normal people. Save the whales. Clean the beaches. Don't use plastic bags. Recycle. Don’t eat meat. Be good people. Be kind. Look after your body and be mindful. Stuff like that.**

**EVEN: They also like the idea of going back to nature, back to basics and simply, they are really comfortable in their own skin. You can just relax when you are naked, because you can’t hide. It’s just you. But that is Mum and Dad. OK?**

**EVEN: Me? I just fucking hate clothes. So would you if you had grown up running riot in fields stark naked. It’s much more fun. Stick a bunch of restrictive clothes on me and I get all self-conscious and weird. I also really like doing Yoga, and I like hanging out with Mum when she teaches her classes. It’s just a thing. We might as well be doing a book club or knitting or whatever. Mum just happens to teach a load of naked classes for people like me who just don’t like to wear clothes. Does that explain it?**

**ISAK: It’s weird as fuck.**

**ISAK: So what’s a Nudist then?**

**EVEN: Naturist are all about back to nature and have agendas and views and shit. Nudist just want to be naked. Not much of a difference. Same kind of thing really. Everyone is all nice and kind about it. Another thing, Naturists and Nudists and whatever don’t like to use phones and tablets and things around other people, and it’s kind of seen as rude. You know. Cameras. It’s just a thing. People just leave them in their bags. OK? It’s not weird, but just leave your phone in your pocket if you meet someone… like if we go home and my parents are naked. Just .. You know.**

**ISAK: You said they would be dressed.**

**EVEN: THEY WILL BE DRESSED TOMORROW**

**EVEN: Please chill, I will just take you home, we will say hi, have a cup of tea and then we will eat some nice food and I will talk constantly so you don’t have to. OK?**

**ISAK: You’re a dick.**

**EVEN: I know. I have one too.**

**ISAK: When are you coming home?**

**ISAK: I mean, when are you coming here?**

**ISAK: You are coming over?**

**EVEN: Chill. Just sorting out a few things, and I will be with you. I have cooked with Mum, and have loads of food to deliver then I will be with you. We are fucking later, I haven’t forgotten.**

**ISAK: Good.**

**EVEN: It will be. Good.**

**ISAK: Good.**

**EVEN: Great.**

**ISAK: Just fuck off.**

**ISAK: You are driving me crazy.**

**ISAK: I**

**ISAK: Fuck.**

**ISAK: Just come over.**

**EVEN: I will be there as soon as I can.**

**ISAK: Did you really use to run around in the grass naked?**

**EVEN: Yeah, my grandparents lived on a farm and we just all ran around naked. Then I went for my first sleepover at Jonas’ house, I was probably about 6? His mum tried to get me to wear pyjamas to bed and I screamed like she was trying to axe murder me. She never tried that again. I still hear about it every time I go to Jonas’ house, how I almost had her arrested when the neighbours called the police.**

**ISAK: That’s kind of hardcore.**

**EVEN: I know.**

**EVEN: Stop texting me. I need go get stuff done so I can come and get naked with you.**

**ISAK: I will be a nudist then. In bed only. Will that work?**

**EVEN: You can be whatever you want to be baby. I don’t want you to be anything else than what you are. You are you.**

**ISAK: It’s still weird. All this.**

**EVEN: I know.**

**ISAK: The bruise on my head is almost gone. It’s just a little bit of yellow bruising now.**

**EVEN: Stop texting me.**

**ISAK: Can’t help it. I think I miss you.**

**EVEN: I miss you too.**

**ISAK: (love heart)**

**EVEN: (Kiss emoji** )


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the comments and kudos and love! I am busy as always, with Infinity running along nicely, and a new summer venture co-lab that I am so excited about I can hardly contain myself. It's cool. You'll see.   
> I am doing real life stuff this week, but hopefully there will be more updates. Just bear with me if I am slow updating, I am working as fast as I can. All the love, always. xxx

**His** arse hurts. Not badly but he’s sore and feeling like he has have run a marathon despite all the yoga and stretching he does. He supposes that fucking as much as the two of them did last night is kind of a good thing for discovering muscles and tendons forgotten and stashed in your body. But damn. He’s sore. Everywhere. Which makes him want to go and have a shower and clean up to try to soothe the itch and ache down there, but there hasn’t really been much time.

Not when you have all of this yumminess to contend with. Not when you have a boyfriend. Not when you come back after a hard day’s slog dealing with all kinds of crap and then you walk through the door, that frighteningly starts to feel more and more like home and he just stands there and … Yes. One thing leads to another and he ended up getting dicked in the hallway and fucked to kingdom come on the floor.

So, he’s sore. Fucking arse-itching stitching bloody uncomfortable. But nice. It’s all a mess in his head.

And sitting here in the van driving down the motorway towards his parent’s house, well his home, the one that he has called home most of his life, with this gorgeous bloke who still has a bit of a bruise flashed across his forehead and currently sporting the most ridiculous smile on his face? Yeah. It’s hard. NOT HARD LIKE THAT. Although he thinks that there might be a very plausible risk that he will have to pull over at the next services and find a remote parking space so he can just bend over and suck Isak’s dick. Like.. Now. Like.

“Fuck you.” He says out loud whilst Isak snickers.

“Not now. We would crash.” Isak snarls back and Even can’t help but laugh. Raw. Unapologetic.

“You are as bad as me. I bet you anything you were just thinking about sex.”

“No.” Isak says, but his voice is full of laughter. I was not thinking about sex. And anyway, the minute I think about sex I can only picture your mother all naked with flappy boobs and running on that treadmill and I feel a little bit worried. Are you sure they will be dressed?”

“You are like a fucking child.” He laughs. “How many times have we been through this? Mum had ironed her kaftan earlier, and Dad was wearing slippers. They are fully on board. Promise.”

“I don’t trust you.” Isak mutters.

“My arse doesn’t trust you.” Even says back, half serious. Half wanting to laugh. Half hoping he can get off the motorway faster than his dick takes to thicken up. All Isak has to do is open his mouth and Even get’s a hard on.

“You sore?” Isak says, and his hand lands on Even’s thigh, which makes him jolt. Because. Yeah.

“Yeah” He sighs. “We need lube and I need a break. My arse can’t take more for a few days. Sorry.”

“Sorry.” Isak almost whispers. “Should’ve gone easy on you, but you kind of…. You need to tell me when I am being too rough.”

“You weren’t too rough, and anyway, I was the one screaming for more and trying to ride you on the hallway. It was pretty good.”

“Pretty good?” Isak shrieks. “You did see those spunk marks on the carpet? You did those? Remember? Whilst screaming my name and _faster_ and _fuck me Isak_ and all that?”

“Shut up.” Even mutters but his face is smiling. And Isak’s hand squeezes his thigh. And he misses the exit for the services and swears a little under his breath. At least they will be on time. And he will just have to control himself. Just until later.

 

He parks ridiculously close to the house, his nerves showing as he can’t line the van up properly despite parking on the drive every bloody day. And Isak is fidgeting and chewing a fingernail and looking terrified again, and Even stomps his feet on the step and rings the doorbell before tugging the door open.

“EEELLLO!” He shouts. Like a fool. Like he always does, but then it’s not every day he brings someone home. And then he rips his t-shirt off in sheer panic whilst Isak’s face goes white and he remembers that this is supposed to be a clothed evening. No nakedness. He takes a deep breath. Pulls his t-shirt back on whilst Isak carefully toes his shoes off. Wiping his hands on his trousers and tugging at the strings on his hoodie.

“Darling? Is that you?” Comes the voice from the kitchen followed by a stern “Bernt, the boys are here, get yourself covered up dear.”

“I am not covering up in my own home. _Dear_.” Comes from another part of the house.

“Dad!” Even whines. Because here we go again.

“I’m allowed to do whatever I want in my own home!” His dad roars from the chair where Even has no doubt that his father is sitting stark naked with his iPad on his lap. He might be old and awkward but Bernt Naesheim has not let technology get the better of him and Even has no doubt that Isak is about to get an earful of his father’s ideas and ideologies and all that crap he spills out. It’s fine if it’s just them, but he bloody promised.

“Dad.” Even warns dragging Isak with him by the hand as he sweeps into the living room where Bernt’s face cracks into a blinding smile and he takes a couple of steps towards Isak and shakes his hand vigorously.

“Isak is it? Dear boy, come in come in, take a seat. Even has told us so much about you, welcome to our home. I’m Bernt, and don’t be shy, boy, come sit down. Even. bring your boy a beer. I bought that German brand you like, and Mother has bought wine. It’s organic from New Zealand so none of those pesky Australian preservatives.”

His father looks at Even and smiles. Like _Look? He’s fine. I’m not getting covered up in my own home just to other people can feel more comfortable about their own insecurities_.

“I’m so sorry Isak.” Even whispers whilst his Dad rolls his eyes and taps the screen on the iPad.

“Now Isak, I read this article about the future of computer graphics, and I wanted to ask your opinion.” He passes the iPad to Isak, who accepts it with a pale smile, looking at Even for reassurance, whilst Even just sits his sorry sore arse on the sofa and let’s his head hang into his hands.

“You promised.” He whines.

“Your mother promised. I said nothing of the sort.” His father replies and crosses his arms over his bare chest.

“You are as bad as eachother, you silly stupid men.” Comes a voice from the hallway as his Mother sweeps into the room, carrying a tray of glasses, wearing her favourite flowing kaftan, the one that is made by Colombian workers in the eco-factory sponsored by the Oslo Naturist Society. Even stares at her and wants to scream. It’s not the kaftan she ironed this morning. The one she ironed this morning is not bloody see through with the evening sun glaring through the large windows facing the fields at the back of the house.

“Even, darling, you are looking a little pale?” His mother asks and strokes his hair as she sweeps by, then she grabs the iPad from Isak and drags him up into one of her hugs. The ones where she strokes your back and whispers secrets in your ear and makes the world a better place.

He hopes.

Because this is all about to go wrong, and Isak is about to walk out and never return, and why on earth did Even think that this was a good Idea? Really? Why?

He can’t quite make out what his mother is whispering to Isak, and Isak is giggling softly and his mother holds Isak’s face in her hands and nods and he nods back and Even’s is about to swallow his own tongue in fear. This is not good.

“Dinner smells delicious Isabell, don’t you agree boys? I made the bread and Mother has done her spicy stew, and there is fresh sorbet for dessert. Arne came over earlier, he had made a fresh batch, it’s blackberry if I remember rightly.”

“Arne makes the best sorbet.” His mother coos. And Isak falls back down on the sofa with a thud.

“Mum. Dad.” Even starts, and sits up straight. “This is Isak. My boyfriend. Please don’t make me look bad by embarrassing the hell out of me. Not on our first date.”

“This is your first date?” His mother questions and claps her hands like a little girl. “Oh, I love it, my boy brings his lover home to meet us on their first date, it’s definitely love then. Don’t you think Bernt?”

“Isabell, you closed my Safari windows again, I have told you to be careful with the iPad.”

“You can save them in your History? Then they will re-open again?” Isak doesn’t sound convinced, his voice far too wobbly for Even’s liking.

“Show me?” His father says, looking over the rim of his reading glasses. “See Even? I like this boy already.”

“Isak, we are so pleased to meet you.” His mother says, taking a seat on the edge of the coffee table. Which is not good. Far too close. “We, Bernt and I, want you to feel at home here. If anything makes you uncomfortable or if you have questions, we are very open to hear them. I understand that you are new to the lifestyle, and we are very keen to integrate you in a way that you feel relaxed about Naturism and how we live our lives in general. I’m sure Even has explained it all to you, but please talk to us and tell us if there is anything that concerns you.”

“You can always talk to us Isak.” Bernt mutters, and then he cheers loudly. “Look, the windows opened again. Fantastic. I love this iPad thing. Now, where were we? The future of Computer graphics.”

“No Bernt. We were inviting Isak to voice any concerns about Naturism.” Isabell says shooting Isak a warm smile.

“Yes, and Isak, I am happy to answer questions, but I draw the line at what I choose to wear, or in this case, not wear, in my own home. I like slippers. Look? Slippers. I wear them to greet guests.”

“Yeah Dad, because you think your toenails are disgusting.” Even pipes up. How old is he? Three?

“I agree, my toenails are not my finest asset. I do though have exceptional pecs.” Bernt continues and laughs whilst Isabell just shakes her head.

“I tried Even, I really did baby.” She coos, and reaches out to ruffle Even’s hair. “Now Isak, has Even brought you a beer? Let’s have a drink and relax. I want to hear all about your company, and Bernt has questions. Also, you are an accountant? No?”

“Isak is a website designer.” Even stutters out. He thinks?

“I have a degree in economics.” Isak says, his eyes flickering to Even’s.

“See?” Bernt says, taking a sip from the bottle of beer he had sitting on the floor next to him. “Isak is absolutley fine. No need to go into this full panic about being clothed at home.”

“It’s fine.” Isak stutters, when Even can see that it’s not? Isak is not fine. This is fucking awful. Or is it?

“Even, it’s fine.” Isak laughs. “You look like you are about to combust. If your clothes bother you, just strip. Honestly. You are going to faint if you are going to sit there and hold your breath for the entire evening.”

It’s a different Isak. One he hasn’t really seen for a while. And his mother is ruffling Isak’s hair like they have known eachother for ages, and she waltzes off into the kitchen, returning with some of her home-made oven roasted vegetable crisps and the dip that Even likes. His favourite. His parents are trying, he can see that. And he does love them. Adores them.

And perhaps he is right. Perhaps he needs to breathe. Chill. He slowly pulls the t-shirt off over his head. Let’s the cool air from the open window soothe his skin. Better. He can breathe a little better.

“Good.” Isak says and pats his arm. “It’s fine Even. It is.”

He is smiling, which kind of eggs Even on.

“I like that you support Even, and don’t restrict him in the way he chooses to live.” Bernt says and stares at Isak who just nods.

“He needs to be who he is.” Isak says, and swallows. Loudly. Like that took a lot of effort.

Guts. Isak has them. And fuck, Even is bloody proud.

“I don’t think being a naturist is for me, but I can see the benefits. I understand a little of how Even functions, and I see it works for him. He is calmer when he can be…. himself.”

“Textiles do that to you. I’m very much the same. Stick a coat on me and I don’t know how I am supposed to behave. I struggle when I go out to run errands, I feel all self-conscious, and unsure if I am wearing the right thing. Mother gets all uptight. It’s just easier to live like this. It suits us. And we can follow our ideologies and be close to nature. The way we were intended to be. It’s not something that suits everyone, Isak, and whatever Even says, we are not some sort of cult that want to recruit you into our deprived lifestyle.” He chuckles like he has told a joke, whilst Even nervously strips out of his joggers and socks. Takes a deep breath before removing his boxers and letting them drop to the floor.

“Even, I’m not your laundry service. Go put your clothes away, what will Isak think? That we live in a pigsty?” Isabell is not joking, and Isak sits up straighter as she places and ice-cold beer in his hand, and offers a plate of snacks.

“Now Isak. Tell me about designing websites. Did you have a chance to look at ours? I think an upgrade is due, and I would love to hear your views. Now Bernt, pass me the iPad and I will show you what I had in mind. Perhaps you can suggest some changes?”

He can hear them as he walks over to the hallway, and throws his clothes in a pile on the floor. Stretches his arms over his head and smiles.

Perhaps it will be fine. Perhaps.

Well, anyway. It’s OK. Isak is OK, he can hear him laughing at his mother. Despite her being pretty much naked wearing a see-through excuse of a kaftan. Despite his Father now pacing the room arguing with Isak over the need for online payment options. Despite the purple bruises on his hips that he perhaps shouldn’t let his parents see.

Perhaps.

Fuck it.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so once again I am tandem writing a million stories and it seems in this one I can't keep it straight with the first person vs third...So sorry. I will go through it and edit it at some point so it all works, but for now? I thought a bit of summer smut was in order. So here we go. Enjoy!

 

 **The pain is not nice. It neve** r is, and that’s one of the reasons I used to stick to blowjobs. I hate this. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know everyone goes on about sex and how fucking awesome it is, but try it yourself, having someone shove a six inch dick up your back passage when you are flat on your stomach with an almost two meter tall hot dude pushing you down on the bed. Yeah, and sticking his big thick fat cock inside of you.

I like the idea of the big fat cock. Even’s cock is gorgeous, and when he’s hard it’s like all my wet pornographic thrills have come true, all at once. I love sucking him into my mouth, just one small centimetre at a time, teasing him with my tongue and then sliding off and kissing his balls whilst he whines like a baby up there where his head is. I love all that. I love kissing him, and just laying there with him exploring my body with his mouth, sucking on my nipples, and bruising my chest, my hips, my groin. Mmmm. Love that. I kind of get a little pulse in my dick just thinking of it. Not enough to get me hard again, because trust me, right now I am anything but hard as Even pushes a little bit further inside me and I make a sound like I am moaning, when in reality I am kind of internally screaming to get that beast of a dick out of my arse and stop the damn stinging pain and I hope I am not bleeding because that would be fucking unattractive and If Even sees it he will stop and it will all be over and that would be fucking awkward after all the foreplay he’s put me through.

Yeah. Because, believe it or not, five minutes ago I was seriously shaking my butt at him begging him to fuck my brains out. Yeah. That was me. And now I kind of regret it.

But not. And Ahhhrhhrhghtrhtht. Fuck. He’s almost all the way in and my legs are crazy-spasming and Even is kissing little butterflies into my neck, and tangling his fingers in my neckhairs making my whole body shiver.

“I love you baby, you are so fucking brave and beautiful. I know it hurts. I know it’s not nice, but just relax baby. Let me look after you. Just let your hole relax for me, OK?”

Easier said than done when you have like a whole fucking cock up there. And there he goes. One foul jerk and I can feel him against my skin. Pushing a little further, but no, he’s in. All the way.

“Huuur…….Ah….Mm”

That’s me. And I am sweating, little drips falling down my forehead, and my arse spasms with the intrusion, and yeah. You read in all those posts, the ones giving you all the top tips on anal sex. They always say to just relax. Let your muscles relax. Then it gets good.

The thing is, I know it will get good. I know in a few minutes Even will have me hard as a rock and I will be begging him to go faster and harder but for now my mouth lets out another low whine and I can feel tears at the corner of my eyes and fuck.

I bet it’s not like this for bloody girls. I bet it doesn’t sting like hell and feel like your body is about to be split right fucking open.

“You’re…Big.” I pant. “So freaking big Even.”

At least I am able to speak. That’s a good sign.

“Love you.” He mumbles. His voice is barely there, and for a moment I remind myself of what it’s like fucking him. When I sink into him and he sqirms and swears like the worst kind of gangster dude in those movies. When he tenses up like a coil, and I massage his back, kiss his shoulders. Tug at his hair trying to get to his mouth, only to find his face scrunched up like he’s in pain, when he keeps on reassuring me that he is not. He just needs a moment. A little second. _Just a little while more. Just stay still and hold me._

It’s fantastic when you are on the top. When your dick sinks into that wet warm hole and his whole body tries to squeeze the fuck out of your dick, the muscles pushing at you, and you push even further in and get rewarded with even more heat. More pressure. More fucking awesomeness.

I try to remember that, when Even pulls out and pushes back in with a forceful thrust of his hips.

I roar. Because. Yeah. It’s weird. Kind of stabbing your insides with a big blunt stick.

But it’s also kind of warm. Friction in all the right places.

“More” My mouth says whilst my brain screams for the emergency brakes.

So he does. Pulls out and slams back down, me flat on my stomach and Even doing some kind of fucked up planking with his dick dipping in and out of my arse, and my traitorous legs are spreading, my arse sticking up as much as I can muster, giving my own cock space to start filling up.

Because even though I am still not fully on board with this being fun, my dick is apparently back in the game as Even angles himself a little and gives my prostate a full on sliding kiss of death.

Well. Hello prostate. My mouth roars. My dick bounces and my hips slam up to meet his cock on the next thrust whilst he starts to moan. Long drawn out noises and I kind of join in with the sounds and slutty moans. Not that I can control whats coming out of my mouth, because here we go. I am now officially doing the porny stuff.

“Fuck me!” I shout. “Harder Even. You know I can take it. Just fucking pound me.”

Charming. Hello. Isak Valtersen. Normal professional dude. Also part time wannabe pornstar apparently.

“So fucking sexy.” Even pants into my shoulder, and sinks his teeth into my skin, and for a second my brain hopes he will bite down. I could do with some pain. The stinging in my arse now replaced with a dull delicious slide, my cock almost painfully hard, as my hands snakes down and I start to clumsily jerk myself off in the tiny space I have between my body and the mattress. It’s mostly a bit of finger action I can manage whilst Even stabs me in the back with his elbow trying to get a better angle, and then he pulls me almost violently off the bed onto all fours, which makes my cock weep with joy.

I love when he manhandles me. When he throws me around. Uses me as his own personal pleasure slave. It’s a fucked up fantasy to even think out loud, but it’s Even.

I’ve never met anyone like Even before.

“Love you!” I pant out as my hand gets right into the jerking off, all the cool air around my dick making me whinge as my hand gets a steady rhythm going and Evens fingers are bruising shapes into my hips as my arse gets the pounding of the century. Or the day. He fucked me like this the day before yesterday. I fucked him to kingdom come yesterday. It was definitely my turn today.

“Fucking love you toooo.” He roars behind me, his skin slapping hard against my arse, the hairs on my legs pulling against his thighs, trapping my skin in little painful tugs. It just adds to it all. All the sensations tugging at my nerve endings. My skin on fire, and at the same time I have goose bumps on my arms. His breath hot on my back as he leans further over me, my arms shaking as I am struggling to hold us both up.

“Here it comes baby, here comes the motherload.” He shouts.

Fucking imbicille crap, and if I wasn’t so far gone in my own sexhaze I would have laughed. Instead my mouth says something stupid like “Fill me up baby.” As my dick starts to shoot and I am once again lost in bliss.

It’s crazy trying to explain it, the thing your body does in an orgasm. It’s like my brain is being squeezed out of my skull, my head to big for the world. My dick exploding as my whole body shuts down for a few blissfull seconds when everything is right in the world.

I don’t kind of come back fully until I have somehow landed on my back and there is wet stuff running down my leg and Even’s mouth is somewhere under my armpit, panting like he has run a marathon. Which I suppose he has.

“Fucking love you.” I say, my voice still a little wobbly.

“Your computer is making noises out there.” He says.

“Fuck. I had a breakfast meeting!”

I did as well, and I throw myself across the bed, kneeing him in the groin as I go, leaving him curled up like a ball laughing at me as I throw a shirt over my chest and rub myself down, whilst grabbing a clean one from the wardrobe.

“Be quiet for 10 minutes or so whilst I get the gist of these people, it’s a big contract and I just need to concentrate.” I hiss whilst buttoning up the collar and throwing a tie around my neck.

He just laughs. The little shit.

The chair creaks and swirls as I throw myself down by my desk, tapping the enter tab like a freak, whilst adjusting my tie.

“Good morning, sorry for the delay, I was on another call.” I say cheerily as the head of Langeland Graphics comes into view with his suit jacket and immaculate hair. Whilst I am sitting butt arse naked on my office chair, letting Even's spunk run down my leg and the lube on my arse smearing all over the cheap Italian leather.

“Not to worry.” Mr Langeland says and introduces me to his team as my screen fills with little squares with professional faces smiling politely and I nod and try to smile as Even tiptoes in on the side, stark naked and carefully avoiding my webcam as he places a steaming cup of coffee next to me.

“Thank you.” I mouth politely to him as he winks and caresses his cock, doing a little slow dance back towards the kitchen whilst my face blushes and I stutter out some half arsed reply with regards to contactless payments and automatic invoicing solutions.

I love him. I fucking love him, and I don’t care what anyone says.

“I’m sorry,” I say as I involountary laugh out loud, looking at the surprised faces staring back at me on the screen. “My boyfriend just brought me a coffee, and is making faces. The little shit.”

Not professional at all, but they all laugh and Leonie from the German office lifts her coffee cup up to toast me and Mr Langeland says he wishes his wife would make him coffee, and somehow. Somehow the mood shifts.

I nail the contract.

I fucking nail it.

Then I go and fuck Even to kingdom come.


End file.
